Our Lady
by s2Teennovelist
Summary: A white-haired youth scored as a demon and banished to the belltower of Notre Dame; an abrasive gypsy seeking freedom: two souls caught in the vicious snare of an ambitious bishop; a love that will forever change the city of Paris.RxB Tendershipping
1. Glory

MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT TENDERSHIPPING!

Okay I know you're probably all wondering what the hell I'm doing starting another story when I have two more to start, one to finish and another to update, and to be honest I don't know either, only that ever since I saw one of my good friends, Natoya's youtube video Yami's Hellfire (which is one of my FAVORITE vids) I've had this an another idea in my head, and my imagination has been literally SCREAMING at me to write these things since i neglected it due to school work and homework and shit ugh!

**Dedications:** Toya-chan for the inspiration and will be based off the Hunchback of Notre Dame, most the movie since the book was a tad too dar for me but like all my stuff I will throw in a couple of unique twists: the biggest ones being who will be Quasimoto and who will be Esmerelda heehee.

**Warnings:** As I said Tendershipping that means boyxboy love and slight mobiumshipping, though that will be a SIDE pairing only. Also since I'm sticking to a lot of the main themes of the original story this will also have some religious themes going on such as the hypocrisy of the church, social injustice and other stuff. As I've said before I'm catholic and I have no idea what the main relgion of France is and to be honest I don't care, but any negative aspects on women, gypsies or anything else in Marik (who will be Frollo's) POV are strictly his insane and corrupt mind and not ment to offend anyone. On the contrary I Love gypsies! I've always been inspired by the style and culture, but I felt the need to get that out of the way.

**Summary:** As a ward of the harsh and just Bishop Marik, Ryou Glory has spent his entire life in the bell tower beneath the bells of Notre Dame, under the care and guardians ship of the Grigori of Notre Dame. Shunned and hidden from the world and its evils because of his Master's determination to maintain his glory, Ryou never thought he'd find happiness. But when he sneaks away on the Mardi Gras Festival and is shown the time of his life by a mysterious man, he fears such an opportunity will never come again...only to discover that event was only the beginning...

Spirited, obnoxious and short-tempered Gypsy thief, Bakura's been with the gypsies since his village was destroyed by the Bishop's crusade to "purify" France; used to being alone and fending for himself, he knows he can trick or tempt anyone to his will and then make himself scarce, but when chance introduced him to the "Angel of Notre Dame" he find his life thrown out of control when he catches the attention of not only the Bishop but his brother the Captain and finds a price on his head even the Sanctuary of Notre Dame can't protect him from completely.

Two souls never meant to meet, brought together by fate and the whim of God, against a dark tyrant, and a love that will forever change the city of Paris.

**Disclaimer**: Yugioh and all its characters belong to Takahashi, i own nothing, the hunchback of notre dame was a disney movie inspired by the book by Hugo, also not mine. I only own the idea, and am writing this for fun and because the hunchback of Notre Dame just SCREAMS tendershipping!

**As always read, review, comment, critique, ask questions and whatever you like**

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_Chapter One: Glory_

Darkness cloaked the streets of Paris as guards in armor black as night surrounded the circle of outcasts. The women in the circle almost shrieked horses kept them trapped in place and spears prevented them from moving. They wore the cloaks and costumes of gypsies which on any other night have helped them to escape, but winter had wrapped Paris in a blanket of white, making the city shimmer even in the blackest of nights. Their miscalculation and poverty had been their own downfall.

"We've captured the witches, sir." The guards address the loan figure slowing arriving through the darkness. The women gasped in horror as the man approached. The man who's very presence struck fear into the hearts of gypsies and everyone he considered corrupted and evil.

The Bishop smiled as he demounted his horse and approached them draped in rich robes of black. His spiky mane of sand-colored hair, contrasting nicely with the rich brown of his skin, sharp lavender eyes pulled into a smirk at the sight of the women trembling in fear at the sight of him.

Good. He thought to himself. Women were sinners after all, but then again they had sinned him since the day he was brought into the world. The day the whore who birthed him and his brother abandoned them on the streets of Paris, not even bothering to ensure their survival. It was only through the grace of God and the church of Our Lady that they survived. It has shamed him when the priest had told them the truth, and he's shunned the race of women ever sense. What woman would abandon her own children on the streets to die, when Our Lady herself had endured so much suffering at the hands of the public for bearing the very child of God? How ironic he thought that the woman who shunned might be one of the sinners he executed in order to promote the purity of Paris. The Lord certainly did work in mysterious ways.

"Take them away." He ordered harshly before remounting his horse and making his way through the streets. The women screamed as the guards descended on them and bound their wrists in chains. "Take those gypsy witches to the dungeons until their execution." He ordered with a smirk in his voice. Triumphantly, he pulled the reins of his stallion and kicked the horse's sides order him to increase his speed. The horse whined in obedience and took to race.

Snow covered the streets and roofs of Notre Dame in a blanket of white illuminating the city even in the cloak of night's darkness. The gypsies should have prepared, had they chosen a less white night they might have escaped. He smirked until a sharp veil caught his ears. He pulled the horse to a stop with a sharp jerk on the stallion's reins. The horse neighed in protest, but was quickly silenced by his master.

One the night was silent the Bishop listened, his gloved hands gripping the reins so tight they would've gone white. Again a wail echoed through the streets. The Bishop's heart plummeted as he recognized the sound—the heart-wrenching wail of an abandoned infant. Anger ripped through his blood, as memories of his own abandonment flashed through his mind. Pulling harshly on the horse's reins he ordered the creature towards the sounds. The horse obeyed without hesitation and increased its speed with each screech from its Master.

The bishop eyes widened as the wide rose windows and flying buttresses of Notre Dame herself. The wails grew louder piercing the night with its desperate cries for sanctuary. He felt his blood thicken as the church approached.

The horse suddenly stopped and round itself up on its hind legs. Overcome by shock, the bishop's grip on the reins loosened and he found himself falling backwards and crashing to the bed of snow. He bishop growled in fury and rose to his feet. Before he could scold the animal, his eyes widened at what had made the horse so frightened in the first place. Their lying upon the steps of Notre Dame, sprawled out as if she'd been crawling was the body of a gypsy woman.

Feeling bile rise in his throat, the bishop approached with caution, and gazed upon the woman, her clothes were in rags and long white hair so pale and smooth it almost blended in with the snow draped around her. She was indeed a gypsy, and her pinched skin and malnourished form, and the thin layer of clothing, which had obviously done little to protect her from the cold, had clearly been the cause of her demise. Even his own hatred of woman could not convince him to completely despise her. His ears heard another piercing wail, and his eyes followed the woman's outstretched arm.

A pale ringed hand gently held onto a small bundle on the steps, crying loudly, demanding attention and comfort. He felt his heart twitch as his gaze fell upon the woman and saw her black eyes still open. She saw him and shivered, despite her weakness, but then she smiled, looking as if she were addressing a old friend.

"Sanctuary," she rasped, as her energy slowly seeped away. "Take me angel of death, but grant my son sanctuary—" she said before her eyes finally shut and her hand slipped from her child. The baby wailed even louder now, as if realizing its mother had just died.

Even his own hatred of woman could not keep a smile from grazing the Bishop's face. It seemed not all woman were evil this one had given her life to ensure her son's safety. At least she had brought him to the church where the priest would surely take care of him, not like him own mother, who'd given birth in the streets and left her two sons to day mere minutes after they were born, and stumbled drunkly to her next client, while her babies screamed for their mother.

With a large swoop of his arms he scooped the infant into his arms and wrapped it in his cloak which, having been accustomed to the winter, served to be much warmed then the light cloth covering the infant's naked form. "There there, little one." The bishop smiled and slowly began unwrapping the damp blanket from the child's face.

He froze, his hand dropped as the boy's face was revealed. The child was beautiful: too much for a boy and impossible for an infant: perfectly smooth skin with not a blemish in sight, a perfectly proportioned body though tiny and frail from youth, a perfect tiny head with features as soft and gently as a china doll. Silky hair as white as the snow had already formed a halo around the boy's head, but worst of all were the eyes: so perfectly round and upturned and the corners, perfectly dark and brown and creamy like the smoothest shade of blackish brown. But it was not the color; it was the eyes themselves, one look at the bishop swore, his heart was suddenly brought to light. Their sway held so much power than one look was all it took and the boy had whomever he wished wrapped around his finger, willing and reads to do whatever he pleased with them.

It wasn't right: the feeling suddenly swelling through him. They were wrong. Even for a woman no one should be feeling these feelings. The bishop took one last look at the dead woman and cursed himself for being fooled into thinking any woman was capable of goodness. She had not been trying to save a human child, but a demon! An incubus who was already swooning men in a way no woman could.

"No." the bishop snapped pulling the child away, the boy cried again having been forced from the sudden warmth. "You shall not tempt me! I have worked too long and hard to achieve the sanctuary of me and my brother, I shall not have one of the devil's whores condemn me!" he said almost manically, searching for a means to destroy the demonic offspring.

His eyes fell upon the well in the corner, and a smile slit the bishop's face as he gently walked over, drawing the infant from the shelter of his cloak and holding it away from as if the child were infected with disease. The baby wailed in fear and from the cold. "Do not worry child" the bishop cooled, with a wild glint in his sharp lavender eyes slowly twisting with insanity. At last he approached the rim of the well and held the bundle over it. "It will all be over soon."

"Stop!" A familiar voice froze the bishop in place and he turned around, instinctively drawing the infant back to him. His robed and cloak swaying like the black wings of a raven.

"Have you gone mad, Marik!" the Archdeacon roared in horror, as he leaned down to scoop the dead woman in his arms.

"Do not worry your old heart, my master." The bishop Marik, bowed respectfully to the man who he owned his life. "The woman was dead upon her arrival, she died attempting to infest out church with his demon." He gestured to the still screaming child. "I'm sending it back to hell where it belongs!"

The Archdeacon's eyes widened in shock then softened at the look of wildness and confusion in his bishop's eyes. "My dear Marik, you of all people know it is a sin to spill innocent blood, no creature is born evil, and even the devil himself was not born a creature of sin."

"Impossible!" Marik roared in protest. "Look at him Archdeacon! He is a boy but he commands like a woman, he brings about feeling that should not exist, even I look at him and I feel the temptation of sin blazing through my own flesh, what else could cause such an emotion if it if not evil!"

The Archdeacon shook his head, and listed the diseased woman into his arms. "Marik do you not see, you have always hated woman, it makes sense this woman would die and her son be passed to you, and that you should feel such a way."

The bishop stepped back reconciling in horror, and even more so upon realizing he had not yet put the child down. "What are you saying are you saying I am—I am-" His pride refused to let him finished the sentence.

"I am simply a servant of our Lord Marik, I am not the one who makes the final judgment, but I know you since the day you've come here have hated woman because of the woman who was your mother. I know your acts are righteousness but if done so in hatred then they are tainted. Do you not see, Marik? The lord has sent you this child as a gift. You must care for him and race him as your own. This child shall be your glory or your defeat."

The Archdeacon's words stun the bishop to the core as he tried to console them. He looked at the squealing child in his arms, again one look in those eyes and he felt something, but it was different from before. Now he felt power, the power a guardian must protect in order to ensure that their charge does not stray to sin. Again he remembered his mother; a prostitute, an incarnation of sin if you will, and know he had risen from such evils and become a bishop if only to spite her. Yes, this child was a test but it was not God who sent him this child but the Darkness. The Archdeacon's words echoed in his head once more.

"Ryou Glory." He muttered with an almost obsessive tone.

"What?" The Archdeacon asked confused.

"His name. Ryou Glory." The Bishop answered, triumph forming a mask over his face.

The Archdeacon frowned, his brow furrowed in disgust. "That is a selfish name."

"It is his destiny." Marik replied. "You said so yourself" he addressed his master, wrapping the child in the wings of his cloak and descending up the stairs and into the church. "This child shall be my glory or my defeat."

One inside the bishops' eyes returned to the child harshly. Again he felt the spike of arousal as the boy snuggled against the warmth of his cloak. Already the child was attempting to swoon men, but he would fix that. He would ensure his ward be breed and live a life of justice free from sin. He had failed to accomplish so with his brother, and he knew this was God's way of redeeming that sin.

"Ryou Glory." The bishop said harshly, as he made his way up the spiral stair case to the room at the top of the bell tower, carved completely from stone deafen the sound of the bells as the rang each morning. He set the child on the bed in the corner and turned to leave locking the door behind him.

Glory. He smirked once again. This child would be his glory.

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As i said Marik (Yami Marik) will play the part of Frollo in this, and i decided to take a creative license on him and branch away from the beginning of the movie since in the original book Quasimodo was abandoned and adopted by Frollo and named after the day he was found, (omit the Disney beginning) and actually cared for Quasimodo and kept him away from people because of his own shunning of society, but his lust and obsession became his undoing which led him to insanity.

It'll be the same thing here, the beginning of this chap I did off the top of my head but I felt it fit Marik's character, and showed how he's not evil (yet) just so blinded by corruption and his own hatred he sees it everywhere. Plus he obviously has problems with obsession which will eventually lead to his downfall, but just a note i wanted to add: also all his thoughts and negative views are for the sake of the story and not ment to offend anyone, so if i get any negative PMS comments about religion or anything, all you will get from me is a middle finger and a deleted reply.

As always, read, review, critique and comment. And sneak peek you will be seeing the "gargoyles" next chap (wink)


	2. Grigori

Told you guys I'd get chapter two up soon (i just had to finish up some school work and now i am offically DONE until Finals! HA-LAY-LU-YA!!!) This chap only took me one day to write! Its a small chap though.

As promised you will be introduced to the Gargoyles--or should i say Grigori in this chapter! LOL.

Warnings: As I said, before this story will be Tendershipping that means boyxboy love and slight mobiumshipping, though that will be a SIDE pairing only. Also since I'm sticking to a lot of the main themes of the original story this will also have some religious themes going on such as the hypocrisy of the church, social injustice ans other stuff. As I've said before I'm catholic sticking to the traditional religion of France (both traditional and Modern France--you pick the time period it doesn't matter to me), any religion in this will be based of Catholicism, so just throwing that out there, not to offend anyone (cuz trust me NOTHING pisses me off mroe that lying, two-face hypcorite who use Religion and God to justify their evil ways--not only is is a sin its immoral and gives good people a bad name) Just throwinf that out there since there will be a religious issue in this chap, technically--angels.

DEDICATIONS: This story is dedicated to my BPS forum friend Toya who's awesome youtube video inspired this fic! You rock girl! Also Extra-special thanks and dedicates to my new friend Chicary (who i affectionatly nicknamed Chi) for agreeing to be my beta for this project for not only doing an awesome jon but getting this back to me so fast. You're amaizng girl! And I love our conversations!

Disclaimer: Yugioh and all its characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi, who i love, idolize and respect FAR too much to try and steal his work from. The hunchbakc of Notres Dame, including the disney version are based off the novel of the same name by Victor Hugo. No idea where the theory of the Grigori come from, but I don't own that later though i am taking a creative license. I won nothing but the plot, the idea and since I'm using a creative license anything not in the original story is mine.

As always read, review, critique, comment and ask questions! I love than that Enjoy!

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_Chapter Two: Grigori_

Alone in the tower, the infant now named Ryou Glory, though he was ignorant of what it now meant for his destiny, looked at his new surroundings. The room was small, and made of stone with only two doors, one leading towards the staircase where Marik brought him, the second opened to the wooden stairs, leading to the enormous bells of Notre Dame. The stone circular room was like a prison tower, with only a small window to let light and sound in, but anything that might enter has to fight past the baroque gargoyles and stone gryphons outside. The structure of the room had been built specifically for a bell ringer, for the sole purpose of protecting the delicate human ears from the deafening sound of the bells when they rang each morning.

But all he saw was a dark room, and no one to hold him. The newborn shivered in the cold, the stone tower provided; the light cloth he was wrapped in did little to protect him from the winter cold, since the bishop has taken his cloak with him. The baby shook and shivered uncomfortably, not liking his new surroundings and wanting the warmth of his mommy. Unsure of how else to ask for help, he cried.

Violet eyes snapped open at the foreign sound echoing in his hears. He shook his head, scattering a mass of amethyst tipped, black hair and lightning shaped golden bangs everywhere. Once he confirmed the noise was real and not a dream, he blinked curiously. He tried to sit up only to find himself pinned in place by two sets of arms. He growled and shifted, until he managed to pull his bronze wings free from the restriction position. The feathered appendages flapped themselves vigorously, attempting to work out the joints they acquired while sleeping.

Carefully, he pulled himself free from the rich bronze and caramel arms of his fellow Grigori and lovers and managed to pull himself into a sitting position.

"Yami?" He gently shook the Grigori on his left. The taller boy shifted and wrapped his arms tighter around Yugi's waist pulling him closer; Yugi squealed. "My Yugi." He mumbled in his sleep. Noticing the one he'd been holding was missing, Atem, the oldest of the trio, shifted closer to try and pull his missing lover closed to him. Growling in frustration, Yugi, wrenched himself free from Yami's waist, and jumped onto the rim of the large cradle that served as their bed, suspended in the air by four thick chains to the ceiling.

He watched as his two lovers huddled closer together and resisted the urge to shiver at the cold air that seeped through the open buttresses of the bell tower and down to the large stone room beneath the wooden stairs that led to the bells. Once he was satisfied his mates were safe, the smallest of the Grigori leapt into the air silently and let himself gently fall to the ground: his wings having slowed his speed like a parachute.

The sound instantly got louder, like a piercing wail of a banshee. Yugi backed himself against the wall and began weaving his lithe frame through the wooden beams of the stairs and platforms keeping the tower strong. He always found it ironic, how despite being made of stone, the interior of the bell tower was wood. It was no wonder they stopped ringing the four bells of the north tower: such a vibration would shake the entire building to its core.

The wailing increased in volume as he approached the room beneath the bell tower. One hesitant step down the staircase after another, and the demanding screams for attention grew louder, the sounds echoing in his ears and making Yugi's heart hammer in his chest in both fear and dread. He reached a shaking hand towards the banister for support, praying he was wrong as the sounds suddenly started to become more recognizable. The stone room did its job blocking the sound, both from entering and leaving.

Finally, he paused as he approached the door at the edge of the staircase, his shaky hand moving towards the handle, his mind screaming at him to back out and up the stairs and enjoy the night snuggling with his mates. Another part of him, however, berated himself for being a coward. A nursery rhyme and how it brought the unfortunate fate of a cat played in his mind as his hand began to slow. Swallowing a lump in his throat he closed his eyes, gripped the metal handle of the door and thrust it open.

The wails hit him like a blow, with such force that he stumbled back before opening his eyes and instantly regretted it. His fears were confirmed when he saw, sprawled out on the cot in the corner of the room, beneath the slit-like window, the source of the wails: a crying infant.

A violent scream of shock and horror ripped from the young watcher's throat and he made no motion to stop it, the piercing screams breaking the stillness of the night and echoing through the bell tower like the wails of a dying banshee. Hands flew to his mouth in shock and dismay. Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill uncontrollably and he knew he wouldn't have the will to stop them.

His mind on auto pilot, Yugi bolted across the room and scooped the tiny infant in his arms as gently as he could. The infant was so small and too light. It was like holding nothing. Realizing, the baby boy had nothing to keep him warm except a thin, wet blanket, He carefully unwove the garment from the around the baby, tears welling in his eyes as the baby screamed again, clearly not liking the cold. Rich chocolate orbs opened to meet Yugi's amethyst ones as if to scream 'what are you doing?'

"Shh, it's okay little one, I'm here." He forced a smiled, wrapping his warm wings around him, before, unclipping the pin holding his silk coat to his shirt, leaving him in only a bell-sleeved silk shirt and pants. He carefully wrapped the warm silk around the infant and held him close against his chest, sheltering him from the cold with his heated wings.

His heart did a back-flip when the child stopped crying and looked at him with a cute blink, then he smiled brightly and released a tiny laugh before cuddling against his new guardian's warm chest. Tears cascaded from Yugi's eyes at the sight. Unable to stand any longer, he gently collapsed against the bed and folded his legs underneath them, wrapping his wings around them both.

"Who could leave an infant alone in this dreary place?" He wondered, and chocked a sob, "Yami, Atem."

The sleeping Grigori bolted awake and jumped in shock at the piercing scream that suddenly broke the stillness of the night. Both of them screamed in fright, bouncing so high they stumbled over the opposite sides of their cradle and crashed to the floor beneath them.

"Ow!" Yami hissed, and pushed himself to his knees, while Atem rubbed his sore back and tried to sit up, muttering curses under his breath. At first sight the two watchers looked identical, but upon closer inspection one could see their similarities were limited. Like their youngest lover, they had tri-colored hair consisting of rich black, gold and a shade of purple or red. Both also had sharp eyes and chiseled features, but that was where the similarities ended.

Yami's eyes were rounder and bright crimson. It was a purplish red, brighter then Yugi's violet, but nowhere near the bright scarlet of Atem's. Caramel skin pulled tight over his lean but lithe frame from lack of muscle. His tri-colored tresses bounced gracefully around his head, in elegant spikes, softer and less wild then Atem's jagged locks. His golden bangs spiked upwards forming streaks of gold through his ebony mane.

Atem was taller. His hair, skin and form were darker, leaner and more muscular due to elder status. Like Yami, his golden bangs streaked his black hair, but his tips were blood red as opposed to the amethyst of Yugi and the magenta of Yami's, and was much wilder and stiffer.

But the greatest difference between them was their wings: Atem's wings were enormous, at least twice the size of his height. The feathers shimmered brilliant onyx black specked with flecks of gold, red, and bronze. Yami's own feathered appendages stretched a little longer then his height but were wider, and perfect for gliding, and the color was silvery-black with faded red and gold tips.

Once the two recovered from the fall, their eyes met and they realized the third member of their trio was missing. Yami's eyes widened and meet Atem's without any need for an explanation. "Yugi."

The two Grigori bolted to their feet and flexed their wings, taking to the air, weaving through the labyrinth of the bell tower as best they could, before landing on the staircase. They bolted down the stairs at a break neck speed but Yami leapt over the banister and landed on the lower level. Following Yami's example, Atem flexed his wings and took to the air, crashing into Yami when he froze in the doorway to the chamber beneath the tower.

The elder opened his mouth to demand an explanation but the blank stare of horror on his lover's face froze him. Blood red eyes followed Yami's eyes to the source of his distress. His own eyes budged out of his skull: Yugi sat cross-legged on the cot in the corner, tears streaming from his face, and his wings limp around him. But that wasn't the cause for his shock. It was the squealing, laughing infant Yugi held gently in his arms.

Silence echoed more dreadful then a scream between the three of them. The only thing breaking the deafening muteness was the newborn's squeals of delight as his tiny hands batted at Yugi's feathers and clutched the warmth of his tunic. No one spoke but Yami was the first to recover from his shock and gently strode across the room before landing on the bed next to Yugi, careful not to scare the little one he was holding. Once the baby turned its attention to him, he gasped. The baby had pure, snow white skin, (paler than even Yugi's) making his large, dark eyes vibrate against his face. Like all newborns, his features were soft, rounded and perfectly proportioned. Atop his head, a mass of white fuzz was already beginning to grow, forming a halo around his angelic face.

Turning his attention from his new guardian to the winged-man next to him, the tiny baby blinked, then smiled, and laughed, holding out his arms as if wanting to be held. A small smile graced Yami's face. "He's beautiful, Yugi." He said softly.

"I know." Was all Yugi said before he burst into tears, gently holding the little one closer to him and bunching up as if to hide himself in his wings. Having seen this before, Yami rolled onto his knees and gently stroked the outside of Yugi's wings, relaxing them enough for him to open them. "Shh," he soothed, gently lifting Yugi's chin to face him before tenderly kissing his tears away. "It's alright, Yugi."

"How can this be alright?" Atem, who had yet to move from his position in the doorway, spat. The two Grigori and the newborn turned to him. Atem hadn't moved, but his gaze turned to the floor, his lighting bangs shadowing the anger blazing in his fiery eyes. His hands clenched at his sides and his entire form shook with such fury that some of his loose feathers began to scatter. "Who the hell would leave a newborn up here? Alone?"

"I don't know." Yugi said, shaking until Yami pulled him into his lap and wrapped his arms around him. Yugi lowered his head, giving Ryou the chance to play with his bangs.

"Stay here." Atem ordered before moving towards the window and hoping on the ledge.

"Where are you going?" Yami demanded.

"To find out what's going on." Atem said before jumping outside, flexing his wings and taking to the air, the darkness of his wings blending into the winter night.

"I just don't understand, Yami," Yugi shook his head, tucking one of his bangs behind his ear despite the baby's whine of protest. "Why would anyone leave a baby here?"

"Perhaps the mother was unable to raise him and brought him to the church for sanctuary?" Yami suggested, gently stroking the baby's stomach with his finger, watching the little one squeal and kick in Yugi's arms.

"But then why leave him here?" Yugi protested. "No one comes up here. The bell ringers don't come up here anymore because they don't need the north bells rung. It's deserted except for the three of us and no one even knows we're here."

Yami pondered for a moment, hoping to come up with an answer. No ideas came.

"Not unless someone brought him here and left him."

"But the question is why? And without anything to protect him! The only thing he had on when I found him was a wet blanket! If someone did find him, why did they bring him here?" Yugi questioned, feeling himself shake again. "I mean, look at him, Yami." He said gently, pulling Ryou away so they could both see him. "He's a newborn. He can't be more than a few days old, a week at the most, he's completely helpless! We don't even know if he has a name."

"His name is Ryou Glory." The two jumped, and looked up. Atem was perched in the window, like a gargoyle. He continued, noticing the bewildered expressions on his two mates' faces and continued, hoping down from the windowsill. "I overheard the bishop and the archdeacon talking. The boy was placed on the steps by his mother. She died bringing him here." He said gently, knowing the information would shock them. To his surprise, Yami gasped in horror and Yugi fought back tears. "When the Bishop found him he was going to keep him until he saw him. He said he 'swoons men like a women but he's a boy,' or something ridiculous like that. The Bishop made him his ward." Atem's nails sank into the wood of the windowsill as he leaned against it, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. "He names him Ryou Glory…it's a selfish name." He spat.

"How so?" Yami asked as Yugi gently rocked the baby.

"The Bishop believes Ryou will be his 'glory' or his 'defeat'. He's determined that he be his glory."

Yugi flinched in realization and Yami growled, clenching the dusty blanket covering the cot in rage. "That is a selfish name." He sighed sadly before turning his attention back to the infant who yawned loudly and made himself comfortable in Yugi's arms. A moment later, the newborn was snuggled up tight and sucking on a tiny pink fist, sound asleep.

Atem followed Yami's eyes and felt his anger melt at the sight. He pushed himself off the sill and sat down on Yugi's opposite side, gently stroked the baby's cheek with his thumb. "So," he began. "What are we going to do now?"

"That's a stupid question." Yami snapped, causing his younger and older mate to shift their attention to him, eyes wide in confusion. "What do you two think we're going to do?" Yami asked, jumping to his feet. "We're keeping him."

The two looked at Yami like he'd grown an extra head.

"Don't look at me like that you two. Are we the Grigori of Notre Dame or not? Our job as her Watchers is to protect everyone within her laws under the Law of Sanctuary." Yami replied gesturing his thumb heavenward to emphasize his point. "If Ryou is here under sanctuary, be he the bishop's ward or not, he's still ours to protect. Besides, that kid's gonna need a loving family to show him the ropes."

"Well," Atem thought for a moment. "It would be unorthodox but since we can't have any, maybe it's Our Lady's way of rewarding us for doing a good job." Atem smiled in agreement.

"Of course!" Yugi bounced smiling for the first time that entire night.

"Plus, given the fact Yugi hasn't put him down since he found him I doubt we can pry him away from your now aibou." Yami teased and chuckled at the blush now covering Yugi's pouting face.

Atem chuckled as well. "Well then, now that that's settled, let's leave this musty place and get back to bed." Ruby eyes wondered around the dark room: walls caked in dust, freezing draft leaking in through the window, tiny cot not fit for anyone in the corner and not even a bureau. No, it was not the place for their little one. That needed to change. "We'll work on his room tomorrow." The two nodded and flexed their wings, not having the strength or energy to walk back up the stairs. Once settled back in their cradle, Yugi rearranged Ryou in his arms so the little one was half wrapped in the blanket and secured in a bed of his own. He was suspended in the air just above the end of their bed so if he needed anything, he was within easy reach and safe if any of them rolled over during the night.

"Good night, little one." Yugi smiled, kissing Ryou's forehead before crawling back to the head of the bed and snuggling down next to Atem and Yami. Emotionally exhausted from the night's events, the three collapsed in a dreamless sleep.

None of them were able to shake the foreboding dread that their tiny angel's struggle had barely begun.

* * *

XD Bet you guys never saw that coming! I hinted it in the warning but I bet you never thought Yami, Yugi and Atem would be the gargoyles, or Grigori in this case.

grigori are a class of angels, Grigori means literally "Watcher", the belief is that after the rebelion/fall of lucifer when God closed the gates of Heaven, the angles were trapped on earth and technically declared fallen, but since they had not joined allgiances with the Devil, the weren't demonic, so the were renamed Grigori and became, quite iterally Guardian angels, who showed humanity the arts, sciences etc. Since Notre Dame is a powerful (spiritually) catholic church, Notre Dame means literally "Our Lady" named after and in honor of the Virgin Mother, so i felt it makes sense that there would be Grigori within the cathedral to protect ti and ensure the Laws of Sanctuary--which declares that anyone within the chrurchs's walls is safe from harm.

Also, i forgot to mention this last chap, I did research on Ryou's name specifically for this sroty and the Kanji for Ryou's name means "complete, or fulfilness" Therefore his complete name would mean complete glory. by giving him this name Marik basically said his only purpose in life is to be Marik's complete and total glory or salvation, hence why everyone claims this to be a selfish name. Just wanted to clear that up.

As of now i'm not sure how fast i will get the chapters up since I'm working on my Dragon Rose story art the moment and my puzzleshipping stories All I ever Wanted and Morning Star as well. That and I need to plan out where the plot will go from here in reference to both the movie and the novel. Wish me luck


	3. Esmeralda

I'M BACK! MWAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Three Weeks of school and I am BACK! this is part one of my quest to update/post three fics by this weekened!

First up Our Lady (which will be the permanent title)

First off I wanna thank all my wonderful fans! When i started this fic, i had no idea it would be so popular and that i would have so much fun writing it! Seriously, ideas are pouring out of my ears: this hasn't happen since I started Let Me Be Your Wings and Dragon Rose! I already have the first half of the story planned out and I can't wait!

As always read, review, comment, critique, ask questions and let me know what needs work.

Disclaimer: Yugioh and all its characters belong to manag god Kazuki Takahashi (who i am convinced is a god!) and the hunchback of Notre Dame which this story is based off was written by Victor Hugo, the movie was adapted by Disney. The plot, the grigori and anything original belongs to me.

Dedications: This fic is dedicated to Toya, who's awesome video Yami's Hellfire inspired this fic and my wicked awesome Beta Chicary, who's put up with my horrendous grammar enough to get this chapter updates and finished! I love you guys!

* * *

_Chapter Three: Esmeralda_

A loud cry dragged Yugi's unconscious mind back to wakefulness. After a small war with himself, his eyes opened and he gently pushed onto his knees and untangled himself from the cage of Atem's arms, surprised to find Yami wasn't next to him.

After flexing his wings and rubbing the sleep from his tired eyes, everything slowly came into focus and he looked over the rim of the cradle. He found his missing mate sitting beneath the cradle on the large bed Ryou slept in. The tiny whitenette squealed, jumping up and down and flaying his arms, demanding to be picked up. Yami smiled and gently lifted their little ward in his arms and set him in his lap. The boy laughed instantly. "Ami! Ami!"

"Yami?" Yugi yawned, feeling Atem stir next to him. "Is he hungry?"

"Yeah." Yami nodded with a small smile before carefully placing the toddler in Yugi's arms. "I checked everything else. I'll go get his milk." The dark-winged Grigori smiled, leaping elegantly from the cradle and flexing his wings.

"Ugi!" Ryou squealed happily.

"That's right." Yugi beamed brightly. "What a smart little boy you are." He said, tickling the toddler's stomach. "And just think, pretty soon you'll be a whole year old." Yugi's smiled brightened when Ryou started clapping.

That year had passed by in a blur. Fortunately, the Bishop kept his word about raising the baby and, although he only visited him a few times a day, Ryou was well fed and well cared for. However, the Bishop placed the child's primary care in the nuns. A different nun was assigned to check on him, feed him, and see to his needs once every two or three hours day and night. The Grigori stayed hidden whenever the bishop or the nuns arrived; the church members were a good caretakers, no question, but the Grigori knew their little one needed more than just nourishment to live. He needed fresh air, sunlight and love, and they took great pleasure in providing him with those comforts.

The Grigori moved their cradle-liked bed so it hung just above Ryou's room in order to be closer to him and ensure his safety during the night. They took turns holding the boy, feeding him, cuddling him, changing him, playing with him and comforting him whenever he cried or got scared. They were the ones gathering his food, clothes and even bringing him toys to play with. By the time the nuns arrived, the trio had already put Ryou back into the large bed in the bell room, which they had cleaned, refurnished and dusted themselves. By the time the nuns arrived to nurse him, he was already dressed, fed, and sound asleep, nice and warm m the blankets. None of the nun's questioned it, they simply assumed another nun or the bishop had already completed the task and retired for the night.

No one suspected the bell tower to be the home of the creatures they only read about in the bible and prayed to for protection, or that the Grigori, the guardians of the church and the holy mother, were raising the little boy. To anyone else who saw it, it was just a dome-shaped ceiling.

Once the boy had learned to crawl, Yugi had been extremely hesitant to put him on the floor. Atem's over protectiveness reached a new level at the thought of the tiny boy crawling around the bell tower, and he created new and sometimes ludicrous excuses why Ryou should hold off walking until he was at least two. Eventually, it was Yami who picked the boy up and set him on the floor and, once he walked away, Ryou pulled himself to his feet and started after him until he grabbed Yami legs and demanded he be picked up. It was days before Yami stopped laughing at the stark disbelief on Yugi and Atem's face. Since then, Ryou ran everywhere, the boy not seeming to understand the notion of 'walking.' Even when he bumped into things, he just shook his head, got right back up and started running again. It drove Yugi crazy and nearly gave Atem a heart attack on more than one occasion.

"He's a night child, no doubt." Atem yawned loudly, and cradled his head in his hand. "He does nothing but sleep during the day and, at night, all he does is eat." The elder Grigori snorted gently, scratching the baby's belly through the thick cotton nighty that covered his whole body. Ryou squealed happily and boldly flexed his arms, attempting to grab at Yugi's bangs when the boy leaned back against the rim of their cradle.

"He's a baby, Atem." Yugi smiled, letting Ryou's hands play with one of his fingers. "He needs to eat a lot. He's growing bigger and bigger every day, after all."

Atem snorted. "He's ten months old and he eats more than the three of us do. Thank God the milk maids bring so much cream to the church."

Yugi just laughed and turned to face his little boy. Ryou had somehow found Yugi's necklace and stared at the foreign object, gripping it in his tiny fists and sucking on it.

"No, no Ryou." Yugi scolded gently, uncurling the baby's fingers from the pendant and tucking it back inside his tunic. "You don't eat that."

The two angels chuckled before a loud gust of wind alerted them to the reappearance of their third member.

Yami climbed back into their hanging bed, holding two glass bottles of milk in one arm, and using the other to pull himself up. "Sounds like I arrived just in time then." The crimson-eyed Grigori laughed, putting the bottles down and held his arms out to take Ryou from Yugi. The violet-eyed angel surrendered the child, but not without reluctance.

"You're always getting up to feed him, love. He's ours too." Yami chuckled, carefully holding Ryou in one arm and sitting cross-legged on the bed. He checked the temperature of the milk before feeding the hungry infant his midnight dinner. The whitenette clenched the bottled possessively in his fists and ravenously devoured the milk.

"Wow, you were hungry, weren't you?" Yami teased, when Ryou finished the bottle.

"I told you so." Atem chuckled, yawning loudly.

"He's a growing boy." Yugi giggled. "Just wait until he's older."

"Oh I dread that day." Yami mocked remorsefulness as Ryou continued to devour his dinner.

"Why's that? 'Cause he'll eat us out of house and home?" Atem joked.

"No, because of all the attention he'll get because he's so beautiful." Yami laughed.

"Over my dead—OWE!" Atem shot up so fast his head hit the ceiling with such force he fell right back down. Unable to resist, both Yami and Yugi burst out laughing. Ryou giggled and clapped his hands. The ruby-eyed Grigori glared, growled furiously at his mates for their hearty laugh at his pain. Pouting, Atem buried himself beneath the blankets and curled around his pillow. "I'm serious though! No one is allowed near our Ryou unless _I_ say it's okay."

Yami rolled his eyes. "Isn't it a tad soon to be worrying about such things, Atem?"

Either Atem didn't hear him or chose to ignore him.

"You go back to sleep, Yugi." Yami told his younger lover, noticing the Grigori's tired eyes. "Ryou's almost done eating anyway." He motioned toward the empty bottle and the yawning toddler making himself comfortable in his daddy's warmth.

"Okay." Yugi nodded and curled up next to Atem.

Yami smiled at the adorable sight, placing the empty bottle on the floor and double-checking to make sure Ryou was asleep before carefully placing the infant back in his bassinet. They'd bring him back to his room in the tower in the morning before the Bishop arrived. Yami sighed as he moved to join his slumbering lovers, thinking of their earlier conversation. His attention turned to his two lovers and he smiled, thanking their divine father for blessing them so, and silently praying for their own little white-haired angel to one day know the joys and happiness that came with finding one's true love. With that final prayer, he fell asleep.

* * *

Small hands grabbed as many fruits in his arms as he could before stuffing a few into his pockets and dumping his heavy burden into a woven basket. He pulled an apple from his pocket and sunk his teeth into the fruit's juicy flesh. He smiled and returned to helping his mother pack their produce from their stand into baskets. "Careful pequeña esmeralda." The tall woman warned, throwing her large, silvery braid behind her back.

The boy nodded and struggled to drag the heavy basket. Unlike other gypsies, he and his mother were vendors and didn't belong to the regular gypsy community. But that was fine with him, he liked working with his mother selling things and seeing the musicians play their flutes and the dancers dance. After all, being a performer was much better than being part of a stuffy old commute in the middle of nowhere. It was much more fun to travel and go to the festivals and grow your own food.

His mother laughed, seeing him struggle with the basket and gently took it from his hands, passing him another smaller basket. "Take this, pequeña esmeralda. It is easier to carry."

The boy took the basket happily, throwing away the core of his apple. "Mama, where are we going next now that the festival is over?" He asked with wide, curious eyes.

His mother smiled brightly. "I'm not sure yet, pequeña esmeralda." She explained, loading the food onto the back of a caravan. "Now let us return home for the evening." She picked up the toddler and sat him on the back of the caravan next to the produce. The tired toddler yawned, swinging his legs back and forth, and pulled out his hair tie, allowing his short, spiky mess of gray hair to spill around his shoulders.

"Are you tired, pequeña esmeralda?" His mother asked, gathering her skirts and preparing to leave.

He grinned and snuggled against one of the baskets. "A little. Mama, how come you always call me 'pequeña esmeralda?'" His mother laughed and removed her shawl to drape it over her son. "Because you have the most beautiful emerald eyes I've ever seen, mon pequeña esmeralda." She beamed and kissed his forehead as he snuggled into the soft material, falling asleep. The last thing he saw before succumbing to dreamland was his mother's gentle face.

The gypsy woman turned to hook the reigns of the horse to the caravan as the rest of the gypsies gathered their supplies and moved to exit the market place and return to their community for the evening. Suddenly, a loud rumble, like a roll of thunder across the ground, alerted everyone to the distance hill. Soldiers baring the symbol of the Spanish army charged over the hillside on dark stallions. In the distance, a disembodied voice howled in the darkness, the only warning the people got before hundreds of men charged down the hill with murder in their eyes.

Screams erupted from the night as people were suddenly chased down and slaughtered by the oncoming soldiers. Fruits, supplies and personal belongings were dropped and scattered everywhere in haste as the gypsies tried to escape the soldiers. Their horses trampled and charged through the stands, starting from the center and working their way outwards to ensure no survivors. Soldiers blocked every entrance and escape routes, forcing crowds of gypsies to run into dead ends at the mercy of the soldiers.

The white-haired woman screamed, abandoning her cart, scooping her slumbering son in her arms and running as fast as she could. She ducked into an alleyway and hid behind anything she could find to avoid the soldiers. Her dark cloak hid her in the darkness and kept her son from the guards who'd come to slaughter her people. Her heart pounded in her chest and she clenched her precious angel closer to her bosom, praying to the good lord if she didn't survive this night, he would, and that his memory would be of the happiness of this day.

"There's another one!" Her heart leapt into her throat at the roar of another guard. Not even waiting for the guards to organize themselves, she bolted through the clearing, knocking over anything she could find to slow down the guards and horses as she stormed through the city.

She refused to turn around, unwilling to give her enemies even a second more to catch her. She noticed a gate leading into an alleyway up ahead and, thinking quickly, she darted to the left, avoiding the galloping hooves of a nearby horse. She grabbed the rim of the iron gate, elegantly leaping over the gateway and bolting as fast as she could down the alleyway. A scream of pain suddenly tore from her throat and she fell forward. She fought the pain and pushed herself to her knees, clutching her son in one arm. Her heart clenched as she felt him stir.

A terrible burning in her side commanded her attention and she looked down to examine the wound. Blood pooled down the side of her skirt and her hand flew to the knife embedded in her waist. She removed it carefully, biting her lip to keep from screaming and quickly bandaged the wound, grateful that it wasn't too deep.

Her body screamed at her as she began running again and her lungs burned but she kept moving. The outskirts of town were so close and she could see the rocks where she could hide her son. She collapsed when she got there, hope swirling in her breast as she carefully lay the sleeping boy behind the rocks with a tear-streaked face. She kissed his forehead, removing her dark burgundy coat and wrapping it around him. Finally, she unclasped the necklace she kept hidden beneath her dress: a brilliant walnut-sized emerald on a heavy silver chain, a gift from her husband before he passed away. Carefully, she clasped the necklace around her son's tiny neck and kissed his forehead, wincing at the pain in her side.

"I love you my pequeña esmeralda. Never forget that." She chocked on her tears before getting to her feet and starting back towards the village, knowing if the soldiers found her there, it was her son's life that would be in danger and not hers. Her vision blurred and she felt dizzy from blood loss. Finally, she collapsed to the ground, and from the corner of her eyes, she could see the fate of her village and the retreating attackers vanishing over the hilltop.

Having accomplished their goal, the soldiers retreated from the village. They finished the task by throwing torches onto various houses, piles of wood and debris. Flames erupted from the chaos, the blaze rivaling the light of the sun and consuming the bodies of the dead. Smoke filled the sky like thick storm clouds and, within the darkness, a bright light flashed overhead.

The dying woman's eyes filled with hope as the warm light of heaven wash over her before she closed her eyes for the last time. One final prayer lingered, and that was for her son's happiness.

* * *

He awoke to an impossibly bright light stinging his eyes. He clenched the cloth around him and shook, realizing he wasn't in his bedroom. He realized his mother was nowhere in sight. He slowly forced his eyes open and screamed, wishing he had stayed asleep.

The rusty gold luminosity was stronger now, casting splashes of light into the night sky. Plumes of smoke curled into the sky in thick, inky wisps like a black peacock uncurling its feathers. Through the smoke, he could see tendrils of brilliant gold, scarlet, orange and violets leaping into the air, dancing among the charred remains of the buildings and stone.

It was impossible. It seemed impossible. Every fiber of his being wanted to pretend this was all a nightmare and that, at any moment, he would wake up in the safety of his mother's arms in the back of their caravan. But he knew he couldn't deny the truth that was right in front of him: the entire city was in flames.

Even at that age, he knew everything he ever loved was gone and that he was alone. He clenched the coat around him tightly, realizing it was his mother's and the necklace around his neck was the one she always kept hidden to avoid being stolen from thieves.

Consumed by fear and grief, the tiny child collapsed to his stomach and cried, a piercing wail that broke the stillness of the night like the mournful warning cries of a specter. His cries, however, did not go unheard like he'd thought. Too consumed in his grief, he didn't notice the large roulotte on the hillside, or the people rushing over after having seen the damage done to the town. Even the crackling of the fires and the rush of smoke were muted by the loud wails of the crying child.

* * *

"This is tragic." Chaos growled as his black boots kicked up ash. His hands formed fists at his sides and he punched the first thing he could find in anger. To calm himself down, he ran a hand through his bangs; his dramatically long, shiny midnight hair spilled from beneath his outrageous headdress in wisps of darkness as a result. He made no move to tie them back, not having the strength to do anything but stare at the remains of the massacre.

His gloved hand clenched the smaller one of the young blond-haired girl next to him. Her green eyes widened in fear, shinning like emeralds against her pale skin, which was so much fairer than his own blue-gray.

"Go back to the roulotte with Silence and Samir, Mana." He turned to the little girl. "There's nothing for you to see here."

She nodded, whipping away the accumulating tears and darting back towards the stunningly colored roulotte the group of performing magicians and gypsies called home.

"Hello?" A tall man dressed in purple called loudly over the hissing smoke in a desperate plea for survivors. "Anything, Chaos?" he asked his companion.

"Nothing yet, Mahad." Chaos admitted ruefully as the two continued their search.

"Keep looking." Silence, the matriarch of their group, ordered carefully, lifting her silver and blue skirts to avoid the ash. A frown marred her gentle face and her vivid blue eyes dulled with sadness. "This is horrible."

"We're too late." Samir told them, carefully lifting Mana back into the caravan. His hair was long, straight, with streaks of gold running through midnight black and his eyes were a vivid blue. In their act, he and his wife were known as the Sorcerer of Dark Magic and the Silent Mage. Under other circumstances, he was the King of the Gypsies, but now, he was just the patriarch of their group, reflecting, with sadness, the senseless persecution of their fellow gypsies. It didn't matter if it wasn't their community; genocide was the same no matter where you went.

"I'm sorry, Samir." Mahad and Chaos exchanged mournful glances. "There are no survivors."

For a moment, Samir didn't speak. He then softly replied. "I was afraid of that. Gather in the caravan, we can't stay here." He ordered, returning to his role as King of the Gypsies.

Silence sighed and wrapped the crying Mana in her shawl. "It's alright little one." She soothed, gently fingering her delicate, gloved fingers through the girls golden tresses. "You're safe now, and soon we'll be in France where we can perform. I know you'll do wonderfully, you've been practicing your tricks a lot."

Mana gently wiped her tears on her dress sleeve and offered a small smile. Silence turned as an unusual noise filled her ears, "Did you hear that mama Silence?" Mana asked.

"Yes, Mana I did." Silence replied, before elegantly leaping from the back of the roulotte and breaking into a sprint towards the source of the distress.

"Silence!" Mahad called but she ignored it and continued running.

"Chaos, stay with Mana. Mahad come to me." Samir ordered and started chasing after his wife.

Silence soon found herself on the outskirts of the city when she finally slowed her pace. She recognized the cries now, even as the wail pierced another piece of her heart. It was the sound of a child crying.

She found him among rust colored rocks, clutching a burgundy coat at least three times his petite size. It was his hair that gave him away. She recognized that messy, mane of pale gray-white. Like her own sky-colored locks, the light color was common among her people. It broke her heart to see the sight of the weeping child with his face buried in his drawn knees.

Carefully, she knelt down in front of him and cleared her throat. The boy stopped crying and lifted his face to see her. He screamed and started sliding away until his back hit the rock and he clawed at it as if trying to hide. Silence was stunned, not by the boy's reaction, but by his eyes: the most beautiful shade of green she'd ever seen.

She smiled and carefully offered him her hand. "It's alright little one. I won't hurt you."

He cried again, not out of fear, but sadness. He put up no resistance when the woman carefully lifted him up and held him close to her. "It's alright little one, you're safe now."

She smiled and started back towards the caravan, seeing Samir and Mahad just overhead.

"Silence?" The gypsy king asked his wife, noticing the tiny buddle she carried, and felt his jaw slack.

"He's a survivor." She explained.

They needed no further explanation.

It was several days before their newest member started to warm up to the other gypsies. He refused to speak and would hide behind Silence despite her efforts to get him to open up. No one blamed him. After all, the boy was still very young and it wasn't fair that he lost everything he ever loved all in a single night for no reason but the prejudice of the Spanish government.

It was Mana who managed to convince him to open up.

"What's your name? I can't keep calling you 'boy' all the time." She asked gently.

He stared at her for a moment, with an expression half between bewilderment and uncertainly. But the girl's smile was warm and inviting.

"Bakura." He finally replied in a small, still voice.

"Bakura." She smiled. "That's a lovely name. That means 'glorious,' right?"

He only blinked and cocked his head cutely.

"That's a pretty necklace." She said, pointing to the emerald necklace peeking out from the oversized burgundy coat he never removed.

"Mama gave it to me." Bakura replied. "She said it's the same color as my eyes. That's why she always called me 'pequeña esmeralda.'"

"That means 'little emerald' in Spanish, right?" Mana asked, having only lived in Spain for a few years and was not yet adept with the language, especially since their journey to France required her to learn that language as well.

Bakura nodded.

"That can be your name then. You're a gypsy so you need a gypsy name. Mine is Mana Magister! I'm a mage like Mahad, so our last name is Magister, see?" She explained with beaming eyes. "So you can be Bakura Esmeralda, 'cause you have very pretty eyes." The little girl flashed a bright, cute grin, unaware that the elder members of their caravan were happily watching the endearing scene. Silence's smile widened, seeing Bakura more open than he had been since the day they rescued him.

"Thank you." Bakura gave a small grin. His tired eyes going wide and bright for the first time since his mother died.

* * *

"Not bad kiddo." Bakura commented, watching Mana created a storm of bubbles from the prop wand she used to perform her magic act with Mahad.

"Thanks." The blond girl replied. "And don't call me 'kiddo.' You may be taller than me now but I'm still older than you." She smirked.

"Yeah, yeah keep telling yourself that." The gypsy gibed, throwing his long hair, over his shoulder. Years of traveling in the sun had bleached the gray locks a shiny silver and tanned his once pale skin. The combination of the two made his shimmering emerald eyes as brilliant as ever, rivaled only by the emerald necklace he proudly wore around his neck.

"That's enough, you too. We need to finish packing if we're going to make it to Paris next year." Chaos playfully scolded his apprentice and the female magician.

"Yeah, yeah we know." Bakura brushed it off. He leaped onto a crate, grabbed the side of the roof, and gently hoisted his body to the left, going into a flip and landing on top of the caravan with the grace and agility unique of an acrobat.

Mana rolled her eyes. "Show off."

"I'm only stretching my muscles, Mana." Bakura smirked, boasting his talent as he walked across the top of the caravan with little effort. Mahad laughed and tossed the acrobat the next load and a string of rope to tie it down. "And to think you were so timid and quiet when we first met you." He teased.

"I was also five years old." Bakura reminded with a snort. "Fifteen years changes a person."

"Of course it does." Chaos teased, with a gesture of his hand for the three to continue loading the car. "I'll be right back; I need to talk to Madam Silence."

The three nodded, knowing Madam Silence would need the help. Though feisty and active as ever in her old age, losing their beloved Gypsy king Samir to illness had left a wound on her heart that had yet to heal.

He found her sitting cross-legged in front of a small table covered by a black table cloth, shuffling a tarot deck several times before arranging it in a familiar spread. He waited until she finished lying out the spread, knowing it was unwise to interrupt her in the middle of a tarot set.

"I thought we were done predicting the future for the evening." He said with a small smile.

"Now don't you go sprouting stereotypical gibberish at me!" The gypsy matriarch smirked in a voice of mock scorn. "You know tarot reading is about more than just predicting the future. Much more..." Mischievousness and wisdom danced in her aging sapphire eyes.

"Oh you've never let anyone forget it, Madam." Chaos said with a small laugh. "I was only teasing, but may I ask what you're asking?"

Silence smiled and nodded. "I was just asking what will happen to Bakura once we arrive in Paris."

Even after fifteen years Silence still worried about that boy. "What do they say?" he asked curiously, looking over her shoulder at the cards Silence began to turn over:

"The Fool, upright, represents the questioner. The fool represents new beginnings, important decisions and overturning the status quo. Our little emerald is about to begin a new cycle in his life." Silence stopped, turning over the second card, which represented the past, and she frowned. "The Ten of Swords, upright represents ruin, desolation, destruction of a group…that makes sense. It's been fifteen years, but it makes sense." Chaos frowned but nodded. Even after all this time, the memories of that dark night refused to fade - a permanent reminder of their people's suffering.

Carefully, Silence turned over the third card. Before she could fully place it on the table, it slipped from her fingers, landing face up diagonally. "The present reveals…The Tower." She paused for a minute to interpret the meaning. "When upright, this card represents disruptions, change, a sudden violent loss, or an overthrow of the existing way of life. Usually, such changes result in freedom. When it is upside down, this card foretells a sudden change, something one cannot control, or a change that may rob a person of their freedom. But when I flipped the card, it landed in the diagonal so it could have either meaning…whether those meanings are good or bad is open to interpretation." She moved towards the fourth card.

"Perhaps recent experiences will shed some light…" she turned the next card over to reveal the Chariot card. "Overcoming life's obstacles, and triumph over such obstacles…yes that is very true." Chaos was confused, unsure how the card offered any clarification but Silence continued to the next card, the one signifying goals and wants. It was the upright Ten of Cups.

A bright smiled graced Silence's face. "Lasting happiness, security, true friendship and a peaceful and secure happiness is what our pequeña emseralda desires and will expect in our future. But how and why?" She asked herself, fingers gracefully skimming down the row of cards to the sixth card: a representation of the immediate future, revealing the upside down Death card.

Chaos flinched but Silence remained silent seeing, the card was reversed. "When upright, Death can represent the beginning of a new life or some sort of change. But reversed, death represents a change that, although will be painful and unpleasant, is necessary because the current life's path has served its purpose." She paused for a moment than smiled a soft smile. "Yes that does clarify things, present and future."

Silence continued, her hands moving to the seventh card.

Her eyes remained transfixed, studying it intently before placing it down and revealing its face: The Nine of Pentacles in reversed. "A tricky reading. When reversed, the card represents affluence obtained through deception. Another meaning is success and corruption earned through the misfortune of others. But since this card represents environmental influence, I believe it is a warning that the present calm and stability will not last. That is understandable, if the next two are what I think they are, at least…"

Chaos stared at her, clearly not understanding what she meant. He kept his eyes glued on the cards, not liking where this prediction was going and wondering if it would be better for Bakura's sake if they avoided Paris altogether.

The next card brought some hope to Chaos' face. "The Lovers?" He asked.

Silence smiled brightly, "Inner fears and desires. I was correct, our pequeña esmeralda's greatest wish shall be granted."

"Unity and harmony." Chaos said and Silence just smiled.

"The Lovers represents many things. In this case, if Bakura goes to Paris, he will find great love and happiness as a reward for all he's suffered and overcome in life." She explained, piecing the different cards together face up until only the last card, which would reveal the final result of them all, remained face down. A frown marred the Gypsy Queen's face as her hands slowly slid towards the last card. "But if I'm right…" His fingers trembled, almost unwilling to turn the card over. Chaos opened his mouth in concern but Silence raised her hand to silence him and turned over the card.

"Damn." She cursed in a way that left the Gypsy acrobat in a state of shock. The woman began shaking as if trying to deny what she just learned and mumbled as if cursing herself for ever making the prediction in the first place. Chaos was at her side in an instant.

"Madam Silence, are you…" She silenced him by flipping over the last card. Chaos froze: The upright Nine of Sword: the card of the Martyr. Chaos choked, his voice dying in his throat. His eyes turned to Silence who was smiling despite the pools of tears forming in her rich blue, "I always knew he was destined for happiness. It's the nature of the good lord to reward us for our suffering, but still." She paused, "Why must he suffer so in order to obtain what he deserves most?"

Chaos could not answer. His eyes glared at each card, now understanding what the cards meant. There was no question whether or not they went to Paris, even if you didn't believe in tarot or fortunetelling, the meaning was very clear the second the Nine of Swords was flipped: Bakura would find his greatest happiness, his greatest joy, the joy of being truly and unconditionally loved, but that new life and happiness would come only as a result of great and terrible suffering.

* * *

To offer some clarification:

Chaos-Magician of black Chaos

Silence-Silent Magician (level 8)

Samir-Sorcerer of Dark Magic

Mahad and Mana are self-explanatory

Since Ryou was adopted by the mobium Grigori I felt it was appropriate Bakura be adopted by Mages (both because i am in LOVE with the Magician Family and because I wanted to avoid the gypsy stereotype as much as possible)

Bakura's nickname "pequeña esemeralda" obviously means little emerald. Since in the book Esmeralda was named after the emerald she wore on her neck while in the movie she had green eyes, and since i gave Ryou dark eyes, i decided to do both and give him a keepsake of his mother, and drop-dead gorgeous eyes (i know in the past as the thief king and in the Japanese arc he had lavender eyes, so i decided to take a creative license)

Also Bakura in Sanskrit means glorious: no joke! i looked it up (imagine my shock) So like Ryou's name, Bakura means "glorious emerald"

Also, the tarot cards mentioned at the end of this chapter are accurate: I looked up the tarot cards and did the reading from scratch so they are accurate (trust me they almost killed me).

Again thanks to all my wonderful reviews for all of your wonderful reviews and encouragements! You guys rock!


	4. Bells

Okay... it's been what...three months since I updated this story...I"M SO SORRY! I honestly had this chapter planned out, but I had major block for this chap, writing wise.

Also fo those of you who haven't been up to date with my profile, I've been on Vacation in Florida, went to the Outakon convention, my family and i moved to Bel Air and mvoed my gransparents to baltimore and I just started college this week, so yeah NO TIME! NO INTERNET (or if i did it was on and off) and a bunch of other stuff.

I also have a new editing policy because i hate grammatical issues with my fics and because my good friend Zephyra Muoto is awesome!

But the good thing about no internet: plenty of time to write and work on fanfics thus the inspiration and creation of this chapter! Woohoo! Good news I have the next chapters all planned out and I'm working on the next chapter of DR and the next chapter of AIEW.

So yeah, i apologize for the insane wait, I will do my best to make sure it doesn't happen again...also please see my profile about my schedule story wise while I'm in college.

As always read, review, comment, critique, ask questions and enjoy!

**Dedication: **Chicary for being an awesome beta! Special thanks to Zephyra Mouto for kicking my ass in gear and reminding me to sit down, edit my stuff and make it the best it can be no matter how long it takes.

**Disclaimer:** Yugioh and all its characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi. I own none, any reference to the Hunch Back of Notre Dame belong to Hugo who wrote the novel and the play, and Disney owns any references to the movie.

**Warning: **Slight child abuse, mentions of prostitution, drugs, etc. Religious themes (mildly-so for all you non-religious fans out there DON'T PANICK. I'm sticking with Hugo's original theme, just like i said in chapter one.

* * *

_Chapter Four: Bells_

The pearly dawn rose over the city of Paris, dying the violet and reds a pale lavender, then a shiny blue. The sun rose to the trembling echo of the bells of Notre Dame; the deep round dongs vibrated throughout the city, letting the world know it was time to rise for the new day. Everyday the city woke to the loud, low beauty of Emanuel in the south tower and the hallow bellow of the four conjoining bells. All completely oblivious, except for a select few, to the secret hidden within the bell towers.

The secret of the bell ringer.

Emanuel, the largest of all carillons, stood huge and grand at the top of the South Bell Tower while the remaining four swing-chimed bells filled the North. Emanuel remained silent, ringing only to alert the masses for Sunday, but the four remaining brass bells shimmered, waiting to be rung to alert the world that the time for festivals had come. An enormous oak wood frame supported the bells made of triangles and criss-crosses of wooden beams. Different levels were separated by large platforms blocked by wooden gates for safety. Rickety stairs led to the top of the tower where the bells waited to be rung. Support beams stretched across between stairs and platforms. The entire structure vibrated with the force of the four of the five bells ringing voluminously in the North Tower.

Two enormous Tracy windows embedded each tower wall. Castle roofs framed with flamboyant arches crowned the top of each tower. At the base of the two towers stood the grand flying buttresses of the Gallerie de Chimeries, which rimmed off the entire church like a giant rectangular-shaped labyrinth. Massive stone gryphons and flamboyant gargoyles lined the corners of the Gallerie overlooking the city. Others with long necks stretched like orderly soldiers beneath the buttresses, spitting water from their mouths. Other long-necked gargoyles formed a staircase, jutting from the pointed spires in the manner befitting a stunning Gothic Cathedral. Pigeons and doves exploded from within the walls as the bells between the two towers began to ring.

The entire rectangle and the vaulted roofs of the church behind it was Ryou Glory's playground.

His home.

His Sanctuary.

Following his morning routine, he climbed to the tops of the stairs, smiling at each enormous brass bell. He smirked when he reached the top of the rickety stairs and raced across the platform. He leapt elegantly from the railing and grabbed the rope. He let his weight swing him across and pull on the pulley, ringing the first bell. A loud, low echo filled the room with a roaring chime. Once that was done, he kicked the side of the second bell, than lowered himself on the rope. He swung himself back and forth on the rope until he could reach one of the beams. Once he had it tightly in his grasp, he released the rope and swung himself on top of the beam. He raced across the beam and grabbed the second rope, pulling hard and letting his weight do the rest. The second bell swung proudly, filling the room with music.

Again Ryou sprang from the rope, this time, landing on another platform. He wove through the wooden frame, perfectly balanced even as the rest of the oak frame shook from the massive force of the bells. With an elegant leap onto the next platform, he climbed up until he found the third rope and reached for it. Once he had a firm grip, he released his hold on the wooden frame and let himself swing across to the other-side, pulling hard. The bell screeched each swing, causing the hammers to slam against the inside of the bell while his weight gave it just enough swing to create its own music.

Finally, the fourth bell was alive and ringing; the entire tower shook with the force of the volume. Ryou jumped from platform to platform, swung from rope to rope, clenching, gripping and swinging from each wooden beams and rope to another. Leather gloves shielded his hands from burns and splinters while strengthening his grip.

Just for fun, he watched as one rope swung by and waited for the exact moment. Once it was close enough, he leapt onto the banister. With an elegant dive, he grabbed the rope again and, this time, swung on it a few times before letting go and gracefully landing on the floor of the tower in a crouch-position. White birds scattered as he landed, filling the air with feathers.

Once far enough from the voluminous chimes and in the safety of the pallets of the stone gallery, he removed the thick clumps of cotton stuffed in his ears. Though still loud, the rolling chimes of the bells were gentle enough for him to listen without deafening his ears. It was years before he was old enough to ring the bells on his own, but ever since infancy, Yugi had stuffed his ears with cotton when the bells rung, determined to protect his hearing. Like all beautiful things, the brass bells came with a harmful aspect and Ryou loved the music of the bells far too much to risk becoming deaf forever.

Pearly rays of light flooded through the openings of the buttresses as he approached the stone railings. He leapt on top of the railings and climbed on one of the gargoyles. He lay on his stomach over the gargoyle's back; the chilly air blowing his shiny, silvery hair backwards. Mardi Gras had come late this year and the air, though chilled, carried the soft warmth of the approaching spring.

He looked down with excitement as the venders set up for the final day of the Mardi Gras Celebration. Tents, streamers and banners of various materials in shinning colors of royal purples, vibrant greens and gold were everywhere. Poles stood tall and proud, lined with viridian, violet, and ocher ribbons. Entertainers hung curtains from stages and gathered instruments towards the enormous center stage where entertainment performances were to take place. Early risers flocked the streets, dressed in feathered and jeweled masks and flamboyant costumes extravagated with feathers and multiple beaded necklaces. Crowds already began forming around the courtyard before the church, wanting to arrive early for the festival.

A pretty white dove perched in front of him, gazing at him with curious eyes and brushing against him.

"Hmm. Nice to see you too." Ryou smiled, stroking the bird's back with no fear of falling off the gargoyle. "Are you all ready for the festival?" He asked the other birds who cooed and flapped their wings in response.

He flashed them a bright smile before gently scooping the dove into his hand. He pushed himself off his stomach, rolled over and slid down the gargoyle's back, back to the Cathedral. "Well then what are you all waiting for, go! Hurry or you'll miss all the fun." He encouraged, opening his palm and throwing them into the air to free the dove. The other birds followed the dove's example, some of them brushing against him as they flapped their wings. He laughed exuberantly as he was suddenly surrounded by a shower of wings. When the wave of birds departed into the sky, he smiled and looked down at himself. Feathers clung to his clothes and he brushed them off as more birds fled the stone towers of the castle.

"Beat it, you rats with wings!" Ryou jumped and turned around just in time to see a flock of pigeons flying in circles around a slivery-black winged figure. Hands thrashed everywhere as he tried to shoo the birds away from him. He growled in anger as a pile of old feathers that had been accumulating over the years fell on top of him as the birds retreated.

Exhausted from thrashing, the Grigori eventually tired himself out and fell off the banister, landing in a heap of feathers and his own wings. Unable to resist the humor at his guardian's truly pathetic appearance, Ryou burst out laughing.

"Oh shut up, Ryou." The crimson-eyed Grigori snorted.

"Forgive me Yami, but I couldn't help it." Ryou failed to apologize through his fit of giggles.

The Grigori pouted and climbed to his feet, flexing his back and wings to work out the joints. He shook himself to get rid of as many feathers as he could but the fibers stubbornly stayed in place. "There are too many birds in this place! If they're not nesting in my things, they're shedding feathers everywhere!"

"Well that's what you get for leaving your things outside, love." A boyish voice interrupted. The two looked up to the source of the voice. They found a smaller Grigori lying on his stomach on a low-wooden platform with his face in his hands. "This is God's way of telling you to listen to me next time."

Ryou chuckled and left his guardians to their spats while he strolled through the Gallery and up the staircase to the stone room that served as his bedroom. It hadn't changed much over the years save for the blankets and pillows. The desk in the corner filled with books from the church library. Across the room stood a large wardrobe, next to it hung a large broken glass fragment he'd turned into a mirror. Blankets, covered the windows to block out the cold air, but for the most part, the room simply served as a place where Ryou slept and kept his clothes.

He quietly stripped the feather-covered clothes and replaced them with a long-sleeved white shirt, tan pants, a dark green tunic of warm wool, and his leather boots. He caught his reflection in the mirror, grabbed a brush off the vanity, and set to work on untangling his long mane of pale hair.

Adolescence had been kinder to him then most: constant sunlight and the open air brightened his hair to a glossy starry-white, which fell into a thick mane down his back, the bangs curling around his forehead. The pallor of his skin faded to a rich ivory, smooth and absent of any imperfections. His features had sharpened a great deal as he'd grown taller, but he still carried the aura of femme fatal softness. His height perfectly proportioned his body, which had grown lean and strong from the constant gymnastics throughout the church, giving him the physical fitness of youth and the flexibility of an acrobat.

But most glorious of all were his eyes; nineteen years of which had matured them to perfection. Flawlessly rounded, but arched at the corners, they were a brilliant chocolate but the pallor of his hair and skin darkened them so they appeared almost black. The twin orbs radiated warmth and light. Without even trying, those warm eyes could attract even the hardest of hearts. Perhaps they were a curse, perhaps a blessing, he never knew.

His guardians called him an angel. His master, the Arch Bishop Marik, said they were a test. He was beautiful and he knew it, and it was for that reason that he hated what he saw in the mirror. He'd hoped the years would toughen him up, that his more masculine qualities would appear. He was strong but he did not look it. At first glance, he looked like a woman, a beauty who would tempt those around him to sin. It was no wonder people avoided him. They saw him as a demon or a succubus, a creature that sparked unnatural envy in woman and undesired lust in men.

He was a living temptation.

He punched the glass hard, but not strong enough to break it. "Well fine," He snapped, if that was what people chose to see, then that was their fault. It wasn't his fault he was born in such a way. The Bishop himself had told him that he was also tempted when he first saw him, but he'd seen the error of his ways and recognized why the Good Lord had brought the orphan to him.

The Bishop loved him, raised him as his own, educated him in a matter befitting a scholar and cared for him in a way surpassed only by the Grigori. The Grigori. He smiled, retracting his hand. The Bishop may have raised him, tutored him, and taken care of him, but the trio of Grigori was the closest beings he ever had to a real family. When he was an infant and the Bishop had been away, it had been the Grigori who held him when he cried, fed him when he was hungry, comforted him when he wanted attention. As a child, they had played with him, taught him to laugh, to smile, to sing and have fun, scolded him when he misbehaved and taught him about life outside of Notre Dame. They even taught him about the glory and love of the Good Lord. Marik taught him and educated him in math, sciences, and other scholarly things, as well as sheltered him from the evil of the world and its sinners beyond the sanctuary of Notre Dame.

"Ryou?" His head shot up when he heard Yami's voice at his door. "Are you alright, mon ange?"

"Is he sick?" He heard Yugi ask.

Ryou jumped to his feet, feeling guilty for worrying them until a third voice, deeper and more regal than Yami's, filled the tower. Neither Grigori noticed when Ryou opened the door, their eyes, like Ryou's, had flown to the tallest and eldest of the trio of guardian angels. Atem sat commandingly above them on a beam, his enormous black wings speckled with gold and red expanded at his sides. Unfortunately, the flock of pigeons perched on the rims of his wings and atop his crown of his hair marred this regal image.

"Get out of here, ya bunch of buzzards!" The Grigori hollered, thrashing his arms and wings and sending the birds into a scatter. He regained his composure when he caught the rest of his family staring at him. "Now then…" He paused and leapt from the balcony, following Ryou as he walked up the steps to another room in between the two towers.

Curtains lined the area while the glassless window in the front let in warm sunlight and offered the grandest view of Paris. On the table were tiny scraps of beads, broken glass fragments, cutting supplies and other materials Ryou used to create the pretty things hanging from the beams. Books were neatly stacked about as well since the Bishop let him read whatever he wanted from the library.

That room had been Ryou's sanctuary, a place where he felt he could be free to express himself. Although he was free to go about the church as he wished—and often did for mass—he preferred to stay in the towers. There he was free to listen to the sound of the bells and the music, gaze at the stunning stained-glass, or roam about the roofs of the towers and church. Even so, that single room had been the one place he felt the most at home.

"Now then." Ryou paused in his thinking when he felt Atem's hand on his shoulders. "What's bothering you, mon ange?"

Ryou blushed at the nickname and leaned against his table. "I'm not sure…" He said honestly. "I guess, I'm just not sure I want to watch the festival or what I want to do at the moment."

"How so?" Yugi tucked his wings behind his back and moved to the young man's side.

"Well, everyday I wake up and I find myself something to do and I enjoy it; the music, the arts, the things I make. But lately, I don't feel…as happy."

"Like you want more?" Yami suggested, sitting cross-legged. "Whenever you see the Mardi Gras Festival, you want to go but you're too afraid to, so you watch from the towers. But that's not enough anymore, is it?"

Ryou nodded.

"You're growing up, Ryou." Yami smiled, noticing the uncomfortable stance Atem was taking as he continued. "You want to experience life first hand, not keep reading about it or watching it. You're still young, you should be seeing the world, or at the very least, Paris, not spending all your time cooped up in this tower."

Ryou blinked, shocked for a moment at the suggestion. "But you three have lived in this tower all your lives."

Yugi cut him off before he could finish. "We're Grigori, Ryou." The angel met his adopted son's confused gaze with a maternal smile. "Guardians. We're born to protect Our Lady and all within her walls, but even that duty won't last forever. Our lives are not human lives; it isn't measured in time or years or even regrets and accomplishments. We live as we always have. But you, you're young and you're human. You have an entire lifetime ahead of you, one that you should spend following your own heart and finding your own happiness."

"Besides," Atem joked. "If we've survived this long with each other, we can survive another three hundred years together." Everyone laughed at that statement; even Ryou couldn't help but giggle. "But Ryou, in all honesty, it's true. If you spend your life watching people live their lives or reading about it, you're going to watch your own life fly right by you, and then before you realize it, it's too late to experience life for yourself."

"And what kind of guardians would we be if we let you live your life regretting what you didn't do?" Yugi added.

"Exactly." Yami chimed in. "What's stopping you from enjoying Mardi Gras and having the time of your life?" Ryou smiled, though a sigh soon replaced it.

"It's not just that." He added, sadly. "It's my master…"

The Grigori flinched, as he expected. The Grigori were always shy about their dislike of the old man. He wasn't sure if it was because of their own love for Ryou or their dislike of his ways of carrying out God's law. Regardless, whenever he appeared, they kept themselves out of sight.

All his life, he'd lived in isolation and naivety inside the tower, innocent and away from the world with his master to teach him and his guardians to love him. He thought about the outside world like he thought of a day when the Grigori wouldn't play hide and seek with him. This isolation created a child's paradise.

He'd been a lovely child; an angel as the Grigori called him. Even the Bishop adored him, raised him and loved him as his own. He brought him with him on trips outside of town, not wanting to leave him in the care of the nuns when he was too young to care for himself. Ryou promised the Grigori not to tell anyone about them each time he left the church with his Master. It was the Bishop who brought him his meals everyday when he forgot to get them and made sure he ate all his fruits and vegetables, even the ones he disliked. It was the Bishop who taught him to read and write, educated him in the maths and sciences, introduced him to the arts and the music and let him become the ringer of the Notre Dame bells he loved so much.

But when he turned thirteen, everything changed.

"The Bishop's ideals are flawed." Atem remarked sternly. "He chooses to believe one side of things and not the rest. He is respectable, but his isolation has marred his compassion. He traps himself here and, at times, lets his own judgment guide him instead of the Lord's. His visions of right and wrong are even stricter then our own, it seems."

"Perhaps, but I can't blame him." Ryou replied lowly, turning his gaze towards the window. Golden sunlight shimmered over the sparkling city of Paris. The buildings and streets glimmered an almost holy white; a perfect façade of the darkness that happened in the shadowy alleys and trash-littered streets. "All my life he's tried to protect me from the sins of the world, and when I go, I see people who prove just that. People only look at me with envy, or pride, or lust, or hatred." Tears pricked the boy's eyes, "I know there is nothing I can do to stop them, but I hate invoking those emotions in people. Every time I leave this tower, I try and help people, but all I see in the world are sinners."

He couldn't stop the tears that fell from his eyes as dark memories filled his mind, the memories of why he chose not to leave his sanctuary in the bell towers.

Yugi's arms wrapped around his adopted son and stroked his hair. Ryou let himself fall back as the three Grigori crowded around him, offering him comfort. None of them spoke, knowing full well their little one had seen more of the darkness of the world than anyone else. Unlike the Bishop, who assumed the world was full of sin and that only isolation from society guaranteed purity, Ryou had seen firsthand the darkness of humanity; how some people truly were impossible to save.

"That is the way of life." The eldest Grigori eventually replied. "That is the nature of freewill, mon ange. Some choose to use it to do good, while others give into temptation and descend into sin."

Ryou blinked for a moment. Atem smiled and answered the unasked question "There will always be light and darkness just as there will always be evil and good, but they are not necessarily the same. The light is not always good and the darkness is not always bad. It does not work in that manner." Atem explained.

"He's right, mon ange. The world isn't black and white and neither are humans." Yami added. "Humans have free-will and emotions. Their lives are made of colors and grays. They may pursue what they believe is righteous, but those acts may in fact be sinful. Likewise, another may pursue actions others vied as wrong, but he or she their actions are just if those actions help other."

"Why do you think we call you 'angel,' mon ange?" Yugi smiled. "It isn't because you look like an angel, it's because you have a heart as warm and carrying as the light of heaven."

Ryou froze at the statement, touched and confused by what they said, but he smiled.

"The Good Lord does not decide when we are born who is good and who is evil. It is we who decide which path we follow, that is why the Lord blessed humanity with freewill, and he hopes we are strong enough to do whatever must be done in order to fulfill our destinies."

Ryou nodded before looking out the window again. The streets were alive with the Mardi Gras festival and crowds had already gathered around the entertainers.

"Thank you all so very much." Ryou smiled. "Maybe I can find someone good at the festival?" He formed it as a question but the Grigori caught his hidden message.

"That's the spirit!" The ever adventurous Yami jumped to his feet. "If there is one good soul, such as yourself, here then there will always be somewhere else."

"Never forget, mon ange." Yugi said, hugging him from behind. "There is always more good in this world than bad. It may not always seem so, but there is always hope."

Hope. Ryou felt his smile brighten and his heart flutter. Wasn't that what Heaven's light was? What the Archdeacon spoke of each Mass when he spoke of God's love and light?

"You're right." Ryou smiled brightly and started down the staircase, back towards his room, to grab the secret he kept hidden if he ever decided to go to the Festival. His heart quickened in anticipation as he approached his room and threw the door open…

Only to come face to face with the cold, stern eyes of his master, the Bishop Marik.

"Good morning, Ryou Glory." He gestured.

"Oh!" Ryou recoiled with surprise, not expecting to find him there. "G-good morning, Bishop." He responded respectfully, letting his head and gaze drop to the floor.

"You weren't in your room." The Bishop observed. "Were you about the tower?"

Ryou nodded. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, everything is in order." The Bishop replied, holding out a tray of bread and fruits for the young man as well a rich morning wine for breakfast.

"Thank you." The boy smiled and took the plate before setting it on the table, surprised his master hadn't sat down to join him. "Are you not eating?"

"Not today." Marik shook his head; his cold mask not once faltering as he scanned the boy up and down, not failing to notice how the attire he'd chosen, while perfect for the chilly weather, accented all his curves. "I'm only here to inform you of what's happening today, it seems a few things have come up that require my attention."

"Do you mean the festival?" Ryou asked, knowing his master attended the event every year for social reasons. The Bishop spent his days locked away in the church or out of the city, dabbling in his books or in his alchemy. Rumors had been going around that he was a sorcerer, but those rumors were quickly silenced.

"Yes and no." The Bishop replied, strolling about the tower, wandering towards the bells and up towards the room Ryou used as his work place. "You remember what I told you about the outside world, Ryou Glory? About the truth of humanity and how I promised when you were but an infant to protect you from it and all its sins?"

Ryou shivered at the freezing bite in the man's tone. How could he forget? Isolation created a paradise for him, but it had hardened the once warm smile and nurturing eyes of the bishop into a statue of coldness. And Ryou knew why.

He was thirteen when he left the tower on his own for the first time. Marik had always taken Ryou with him on business to other churches and throughout the city. Each time had been a lesson. Each time Ryou saw the darkness of the world outside the sanctuary of his tower: hunger, sadness and grief; thievery, cheaters and poverty; girls and young women, barely old enough to bare children, dressed like prostitutes; whole families wearing rags sleeping in cramped, infested alleys; beggars scavenging around for food or begging for money. It broke the boy's heart and he had reached into his pockets and tried to offer them money, but the Bishop had pulled him away from the madness and into the shelter of his cloak, shushing him and telling him not to bother with the unchangeable fate of the gypsies and peasants.

He'd always wondered why. Why did so many people suffer? What did they do to deserve their unhappy fate? How could God allow such a thing to happen? The Bishop had just glared at him and said it was their fate. Fate was cruel, but it was out of the hands of humanity to change it. He remembered once when he climbed into the tower and tried to free a fly caught in the web of a spider, the Bishop had snatched him into his arms and yelled at him, "Do not interfere with fate!" He'd made him watch as the spider trapped the poor fly in a web of its own silk. Ryou had cried all night, but the Bishop assured him that was the will of God.

All things lived and died for one another. It was only the freewill of the individual that changed fate. He understood and respected that. The fly had flown into the web on its own accord and the spider had killed it for food to survive. But what about the people? Why were they fated to suffer? Why did no one help them when they were forced to steal, lie, cheat, sell their bodies and scavenge to survive? He'd questioned it for years, but the Bishop never answered. He just looked at the boy with shock, then his neutral mask of a parent returned. He would just smile, pat the boy's head and tell him not to worry about such things, passing his questions off as the naïve concerns of a child and hoping they would pass. But Ryou's concerns never did.

When he was thirteen, he expressed his ideals to the Bishop of helping the outcasts: giving them money, clothes and donating things to them. The Bishop was not angry at him for doing so; charity was one of the seven virtues after all. Ryou had a heart full of kindness and generosity, perhaps he deserved his angelic appearance for that reason, but he didn't know the truth: if he continued to give to the people, they would never help themselves. They would just moan and beg, knowing the kind soul would take pity on them. They would not work or change but use the poor boy and take advantage of his kindness until there was nothing left to take. The Bishop told him so, drilled it into the boy's skull, even forbade him from leaving the main streets of the city but Ryou refused to believe the gypsies were evil or that people were incapable of change.

Then, when he was fourteen, he began defying the Bishop's order and ventured into the darker parts of town, willingly donating and offering his service to help the people there. But he was a fool. Instead, he got lost and found himself in the dangerous parts of the city, a place so fraudulent, so filthy, so infested with sin that even God himself refused to shed light on it. The people he found there were not suffering innocents in need of assistance, but greedy, drunken debauches who purposely squandered their money on liquor, women and their own personal pleasures. It had horrified the boy, but when he tried to find someone in need of help, all he found were more corrupted monsters. Because of his beauty, they thought he was a prostitute and he never knew if this was purposefully or accidentally.

He had run for his life. He made it to the end of the streets before he was cornered, too terrified to fight back, too terrified to defend himself, even as the filthy, blurry men grabbed him with their thick, meaty hands. Even as he screamed while they tore at his clothes, only to discover he was not a prostitute, or even a woman, but a young _boy_. The fury and disgust in their eyes brought him to tears. He screamed as they grabbed him and beat him, calling him a demon and a monster.

He didn't like to think about what would've happened if his screaming hadn't alerted the missionary guards. Or what might have happened if they hadn't recognized him as the bishop's ward. If they just saw the man and knew them to be convicted criminals, would they have dragged them away in chains to their deaths or let them have their way with him?

He would never know.

All he remember of that night, was the guards arresting the men. One of them recognized him and grabbed his arms, even as he kicked and screamed, and dragged him back to the safety of the cathedral. The Bishop had been alerted of the incident and told of the boy's actions, but by then he was already in the safety of his tower. He'd cried for days in the Grigoris' arms. Atem had thrown a fit and made sure the assailants had been punished for their sins. Yami and Yugi had been horrified and infuriated at the bishop's coolness about the whole situation. Since then, their disdain for the man refused to die.

The bishop hadn't comforted him or scolded him or even beaten him. He'd done nothing, but the look in his eyes when Ryou saw him, after he'd been told what Ryou did and what had happened, was worse than any beating the Bishop could've ever given him. It was a look of disappointment.

He'd failed the bishop. The man's entire life had been to maintain his glory, to keep him pure, keep him safe and away from the sins of the world. And Ryou himself had single-handily destroyed all he had done with one poorly-made decision. The Bishop had worked so hard to make up for his failure to raise his brother and now he'd failed again with Ryou. From that day on, Ryou could never look the Bishop in the eye. From that day on, the Bishop's smile for him held no love. It had lost all its warmth because now, all it saw was a living reminder of his failure.

"You are my Glory." The Bishop always told him. "The Good Lord sent you to me so I may save your soul from the fiery pit and I will do so. Glory is your name and so you shall be my final Glory." He said it all the time and, to this day, Ryou had no idea what it meant.

"Yes, master, I do." Ryou replied blankly.

"Good." The bishop nodded as he strolled over towards the rim of the cathedral and looked over the balcony at the city and the Mardi Gras Festival down below. Already the town was alive with music, dancing, and performers. Party-goers dressed in richly decorated costumes flocked the city streets, their true faces hidden behind masks of glamour. "When was the last time you've been to the festival, Ryou Glory?" He asked out of nowhere.

Surprise shattered Ryou's mask as he looked up to face his master. Unsure of the purpose behind the question, he answered. "I cannot recall. Not since I was small, I believe." He honestly couldn't remember. So many years had been spent watching the Festival from the safety and luxury of his tower, he couldn't recall before the "incident" if he'd ever actually gone.

The Bishop smiled, but it was a pleased smile, not a kind one. "That's good then. They say this year is going to be quite a spectacle, but I fear it will be just the opposite." He said with a harsh degree of disdain in his voice.

"Master?" Ryou asked, surprised and confused.

"They say the gypsies are fleeing to this country, this very city in fact. It appears Spain has bested us in its extermination of the gypsy heretics and now they seek a new life in this country. This year, they've fled to the city for the festival. They probably think they're disgusting displays will earn them enough to live 'a good life.' Like they have a right to live in this shinning city, even if they can't afford it. This city is no place for heretics!"

"But Master!" Ryou protested. "If they're trying to earn their keep, then isn't that good? You said so yourself, only our freewill has the power to change our fate! If the gypsies are trying to earn their living so they can change their misfortune, isn't that good?" He blurted out without thinking, though instantly regretted it when the Bishop whirled around, his black clothes spiraling around him like a curtain of night. He struck a fierce gaze in Ryou's direction.

"Gypsies don't _earn _money, Ryou Glory. Remember that. They are creatures rejected by God. They mock his name by claiming to worship him but they dabble in the black arts and then refuse to take responsibility for their actions. They are incapable of change. Your heart is too soft; you can't see it, but I do. I see it every day." He spoke each word harshly with a fierce passion and a firm belief in the scorn he was preaching.

Any other time, Ryou might have stayed silent. Any other time, he might have submissively nodded and left the subject at that. But he didn't this time.

"I don't believe that!" He objected and raised his head, forcing tears back into his wet eyes as he faced the bishop's hard face. "I don't believe people are born evil or incapable of change. Some people are evil, I know that for a fact. But if people are willing to change, to struggle to make things better for themselves, then I don't see what's wrong with that."

"That's just the problem, Ryou Glory," The Bishop chuckled darkly, turning around and bracing his forehead in his leather-gloved fingertips. "They don't wish to change to better _themselves_, they seek to change because they _want _things. They want the comforts and luxuries we are afforded everyday. They seek to obtain what they can't have any other way, and then when they squander their money, they'll just go and beg for more."

"But what about those who don't?" Ryou argued, determined not to lose the subject. Hope. He quoted the Grigori in his mind. He may have failed the Bishop and bore the consequences of that shame every day since then, but he would be damned if he was the cause of his master's loss of faith in humanity. "What about the good people, the ones who earn their living to feed their families, or seek to bequeath their children a better life? What if the 'luxuries' they seek are just to give their family and friends a healthier and safer life? Surely, it must be difficult living on the streets?"

The Bishop didn't answer, but his laughter hadn't stopped as he listened to Ryou's argument. "To this day I know not if you really are an angel or just blissfully unaware of your descent into corruption." Ryou froze at the statement. His heart leapt into this throat, when the bishop was in front of him, meeting his eye-level. Ryou's dark eyes stared straight into the icy lavender that had long since lost their warmth.

"But I don't care which it is." The Bishop snapped, taking the front of the boy's shirt. "I want you to stay as far away from the Gypsies as possible. Don't leave your tower until the end of the Festival tomorrow. You are the glory God sent to me as a test! Remember that, Ryou Glory. I failed to save Malik, and I failed with you. But mark my words, you _will _be my Final Glory."

The bishop dropped the boy to the ground. Too shocked to catch himself, Ryou fell to the stone floor in a heap. In the corner, the Bells chimed loudly with anger. It was a signal that Atem was furious and the other two Grigori, though they no doubt shared his anger, were trying to restrain him. Ryou didn't move from his position, knowing from experience it would be worse for him if he continued to resist or fight back. Even though he should've kept his head down submissively, he looked up.

The Bishop's face lost all its control and a twisted, malicious grin replaced it, like the look of a man on the brink of madness. He smiled a crooked smile at the boy before running a hand through his impossible spikes of platinum hair and replaced his hat. His face regained its composure in an instant. He moved like a shadow through the room back towards stairs.

"By the way," he paused in the doorway to the boy's room, without turning around, "there is another reason I wanted to inform you about the gypsy problem." Ryou said nothing, but got to his feet and stood firm, bracing himself for the information. "My brother is returning to Paris. Since it seems he's a failure as a scholar, he's been given the position of Captain of the City's Guards. Hopefully, there he can redeem himself and earn his penance." The Bishop slammed the door behind him, leaving without another word to the boy.

Once he was positive his master had left, Ryou collapsed to the ground, not surprised to feel a flock of warm wings wrapping around him.

"Ryou?" He recognized Yugi's voice, high with concern.

"He's wrong." Ryou responded. When he looked up, the Grigori met his eyes with confusion. He smiled at them and explained. "He's wrong. I don't believe all the gypsies are corrupted. Even the eternal Son said if he found even just one good person in a city of sin, he would spare the whole town, did he not?"

The Grigori nodded.

"I'm going to prove it." Ryou said boldly.

"Ryou, even if you do prove there is good in the world, there is no way the Bishop will believe you." Atem explained with a sad sigh. He always did hate being the one to dampen Ryou's optimism.

"Worse, he'll punish you if you tell him you left the tower after he told you not to." Yami added. "If you do enjoy the festival, its best that he never finds out."

Ryou just chuckled, grateful to his family for their support and protection. But this was something he needed to do, not for the bishop's sake, but his own. "I'm not going to prove anything to the bishop." He explained. "I want to prove it to myself. If I can find just one person who can accept me for who I am, and who is truly good at heart, then I can live the rest of my life knowing there is hope for humanity. Even if it's just one day and only one person."

The Grigoris' eyes brightened with happiness. Yami's grin widened to a smirk as he and Yugi pulled Ryou to his feet. "Well then we'll have to make sure the Bishop can't recognize you and that you blend in with the rest of the crowd, don't we?"

Yugi clapped his hands with glee as Ryou pulled the box from under his bed and tore the lid open to show his guardians the secret it hid. Even Atem smiled as they gazed upon the Mardi Gras outfit.

"Nice." He complimented. "But it needs a few finishing touches." He smirked, pulling a few lose feathers from his wings.

* * *

And there is chapter 4 (phew) I'm proud of how this came out! I wanted to show both Ryou's growing up and his current life now.

I'm also ecstatic with how much everyone seems to like how I do Marik in this, i must say he is an absolute joy to write, and i love playing around with both his novel personality and his movie personality. I hope this answers some questions about him. More on his past is sure to come. Ryou's I wanted to get out right away so he can "move on". I love characterization. I also wanted to show Ryou's reasoning for being isolated aren't forced but, like Quasimodo in the novel, choice.

Also, for everyone who's been waiting Malik will appear next chapter! I decided to combined the roles of Phobeus and Jeran (Frollo's brother) into one character: which is so much fun because they're both such debauched characters in the novel: also for those of you who have seen the movie, BANISH THAT VERSION OF PHOBEUS FROM YOUR MINDS! I plan on doing a total 180 with him.

Bakura and the mages will also return next chap.

Again special thanks to all my wonderful fans for their reviews! I never expected this story to be so popular! Again special thanks to Chicary and Zephyra!


	5. Paris

I know i know, Its been almost two months since i updated this (but i broke the 60 day limit by two weeks YAY!) But Here's the new chap! Score!

At the moment, I'm still working on FanFics but I also have a short story I'm working on for Fiction, in the middle of preparation for the most evil aspect of college that one must pass: The Writing Placement exam (ans i can't take my fa Teacher Dr Payne's crearive non-fiction class in the spring unless i pass it before December GRRRRR!), reading and tearing through a shit load of books for my history paper which I'm really into, working a bunch os shift-i will NEVER work a night-shift unless its on the weekend AGAIN!-and I have Fanfic ideas pouring out of my ears! So yeah, I'm currently focusing on OL and AIEW at the moment, but I'm also determined to get WH done by Halloween and I'm also working on DR. so yeah I got a lot going on, ut do not get discouraged, I REFUSE to leave my fics not updated so at the most I will update all three at least once a month maybe more, depending on how the chaps play out.

Also (grabs mircophone)**FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVEN'T SEEN MY PROFILE PAGE-THERE IS AN IMPORTANT NOTICE THERE FOR ALL MY FANS AND REVIEWERS I'M REQUESTING, SO PLEASE LOOK IT OVER-AND APOLOGIZE TO ALL MY FANS OF MY FAIRYTALE SERIES. So please, look that over for me, I'd greatly appreciate it!**

Dedication: For Chi, for putting up with my horrid Grammar (stables to brain: EDIT TWICE)**! Thanks girl!  
**

As always, read, review, critique, comment, aske questions and let me know what works.

*Also, apologies but Ryou and Bakura won't meet until next chapter-I'm sorry! But I can't WAIT to write the next chap! so enjoy!

_

* * *

Chapter Five: Paris_

The city of Paris was more alive than Bakura remembered.

The Mardi Gras festival livened the streets with stands and shops; banners and costumed performers and courtiers. All around him, children frolicked in masks, carrying bags and sneaking treats from the stands. Dancers performed in the streets decorated with beaded necklaces and bracelets and lavish costumes in vivid green, purple and blue. People gathered around to see the entertainment while others continued to hang banners and poles or help build the huge stage in the center of the plaza.

No one noticed the silver-haired acrobat racing across the roofs of the buildings, tying curtain strings to poles, while down below, his family and other performers erected tents over the stage for the circus. Over his shoulder hung a string of jewels and he leapt from pole to pole, tying the ropes securely.

"Bakura! Hurry up!" Said 'white-head' was broken from his thoughts by a high-pitched voice calling his name. He looked over the ledge of the roof and groaned as his older sister glared at him with impatience.

"Alright, Alright I'm coming!" He leaped elegantly from the roof, grabbed one of the nearby poles with his hands and swung his weight around it like a racket toy until he slowly slipped towards the bottom. When he reached the right angle, he let go and landed like as panther in the heart of the stage.

"Show off," Mana snorted.

"And why shouldn't I?" The gypsy acrobat boasted proudly, removing the string of jewels from his neck. His wind-blown silver hair fanned around him, glowing like quicksilver in the light. The sunlight had darkened his Spanish skin to a nice tan in the year they'd been in France, making his vivid, emerald eyes radiate.

He strolled over to the girl and patted her blond head, knowing it would piss her off. Mana growled and swatted his hand away. "Stop that! You may be taller than me," she warned, "but I am still older."

"Only by two years," Bakura corrected, gathering the jewels in his arms. His eyes sparkled with delight as he eyed each beautifully carved jeweled object. His fingers hooked around an octagonal-shaped diamond pendant on a thick silver chain and he licked his lips with delight, only to be rendered speechless when Mana snatched it away.

"Wha…" He couldn't form a full word, let alone a sentence.

"Where did you get this?" Mana demanded, examining the pendent, unsure if it was a real diamonds or not.

"Relax, it's fake," Bakura replied, making a grab for it but Mana, using her smaller size to her advantage, maneuvered out of the way. Stunned by the hasty movement, Bakura crashed to the floor, screaming as his treasure scattered.

The girl exploded in a fit of laugher as the man got to his knees and desperately gathered the material into the train of his thick, burgundy trench coat.

"That's what you get for stealing!" Mana scolded playfully, earning her a harsh glare and a growl from her adopted sibling.

"I didn't steal them," Bakura protested. "The lady threw it out the window because it and I quote, 'looked fake.' You'd be shocked what these people throw out!" His eyes greedily looking over the collections of jewels, pendants and broaches he'd gathered after wandering around the city's upper streets.

"True." Mana grinned, juggling the pendant in her hand. "We'd make a killing selling this thing."

Bakura looked flabbergasted, as if he'd have a heart attack from the very thought. "Over my dead body!" He howled and lunged at it again but Mana danced her way out of the man's path.

"Now, now, pequeña Esmeralda," Mana teased, waving her finger as if the man were still a disobedient child. "What would Mama Silence say if she caught you hording all these treasures for yourself?"

The glare the thief gave the girl wasn't one of sibling banter but one of bitterness and loss "Do not speak so light-heartedly of the dead, sister." He scolded harshly.

Too late. Mana realized her mistake, but she retaliated nonetheless. "Don't berate me, Bakura!" she snapped, though there was a small sob in her voice. "I loved that woman just as much as you did."

Bakura sighed mournfully. Even though it had been a year since their beloved adoptive mother's passing, the wound was still fresh and it still burned every time she was brought up—especially for Bakura. How could it not? Silence had been the one to rescue him in his darkest hour, picked him up and given him a family. He owed her his life.

"Now, now you two, what would our beloved Madame think if she saw you two arguing over her?" The two youths whirled around. Behind them stood the leader of their caravan dressed in an outrageous black, skin-tight outfit decorated with vibrant blood-red straps all over. A matching headdress held back his dramatically long black hair. Next to him stood an equally tall man in an outrageous purple mantle and robe with his long brown hair hidden beneath his hood.

"Master Chaos is right, you two," Mahado smiled at his younger siblings. "Mama Silence would never want a single soul to mention her name in remorse. Yes, things are better up there and the loss is painful but at least now she and Master Samir are together once more."

The two nodded, though Bakura's grip on his jewels tightened as if they offered some form of comfort.

Chaos's deep blue eyes darted towards the bundle in the man's arms. His eyebrow rose elegantly. "Do I even want to know where you found those?"

Bakura snorted. "No, I did not steal them. I only steal from the rich and that's only if I give it to someone less fortunate than I am, or bring it to the church."

"How noble of you," Mana teased.

"That's enough you two," Chaos scolded light-heartedly. "If you're done, why don't you three go entertain our guests," he gestured to the throng of people arriving for the grand events scheduled to start as soon as the noon bells of Notre Dame rang.

"Are you sure, Chaos?" Mahado asked. "There's still much to be done."

"Besides," Bakura chimed in, licking his lips as he gazed back at the crowd. "I want to see more of the city before I perform."

Chaos froze. "It's too dangerous," he said quickly.

"I'm one and twenty, Chaos," Bakura protested. "I'm not a child anymore, I can handle myself."

"That's not the point!" Chaos corrected. "Paris isn't known for its kindness to gypsies. And lord knows the guards especially dislike you."

Bakura snorted and crossed his arms. "Pah! I could escape those fools with my hands and feet tied together," he boasted proudly. "I'm more than a match for them."

"It's true, Chaos," Mahado chimed in with a laughing smile. "Don't forget, Bakura was always our volunteer distraction if ever we needed to leave a place in a hurry."

Chaos bit his lip. The newly appointed King of Gypsies was no fool. He knew well he couldn't stop the rebellious youth from doing what he wanted and everyone knew Bakura was more than capable of taking care of himself. But the thought of him in the streets of Paris brought Silence's final vision to his mind. Did he dare tell the rest of the family his concern? No, he concluded, closing his eyes in deep thought. He'd promised Madame Silence on her deathbed he'd do everything in his power to protect the three, especially Bakura. Lord only knew the man had been through enough.

And besides, they came to Paris seeking Silence and Samir's legacy—the Court of Miracles, a place reserved only for the lowest class of Paris; a place that could be a kinsmen to hell as well as a cousin to sanctuary.

"Fine," he sighed in defeat. "But I don't want anyone going anywhere without one or both of the other two as well. Last thing I need, is you three getting lost before showtime."

All three groaned. "I mean it!" Chaos said firmly before starting down the platform and back towards the tent. "If any of you three disappear or cause chaos before show time, you'll be sleeping outside!"

"Oh fine!" Bakura wailed in defeat, stomping the entire way back to the caravan. Once safely inside, he stashed his newest collection in his secret place: a simple wooden box he'd hidden behind one of the caravan's floorboards. Once it was free, he undid the lock and deposited the contents inside. Only one object stood out among the others: his emerald, the very pendant his mother had given him on a silver chain.

He hesitated to close the box when his eyes caught sight of it. Subconsciously, his fingers graced over the smooth surface. It was no bigger than a large walnut and looped at the top with a silver chain. His fingers grasped the chain and brought it to meet his face. He hadn't worn it in awhile, too afraid of losing it or it being stolen by the guards. How could a gypsy afford an emerald, after all?

"I miss you, mum," he smiled and gently hooked the chain around his neck before slipping the emerald beneath the safety of his collar. The sudden weight against his chest felt invigorating like being reunited with a missing part of himself.

"Best change into your costume!" Bakura jumped and screeched in surprise, snapping his box close and returning it to its hiding place out of instinct before turning around.

"Never do that again, Mana!" Bakura snapped, but the girl just laughed.

"Alright," she climbed inside and pulled out a lavish gold and lavender outfit consisting of a shoulder cut top and short pink skirt with matching boots, hat and red jewels. It was an outfit that would've been considered scandalous had it been worn on any other day but Mardi Gras.

"Are you going to wear yours?" She asked, unclasping her large blue earrings.

"Nah." Bakura waved her away and made his way out the back to give her privacy. "I hate dressing up, I'll wait until show time; it'll only take a few moments anyway."

"Suit yourself," Mana smiled. "Now shoo!"

Bakura obeyed, grabbing his dance slippers and the series of bells he wore when he performed on the way out.

Once he was gone, Mana closed the curtains and left him on the steps.

Deciding to get ready while he waited, Bakura buttoned his burgundy coat down to his waist. Trimmed along edges and tail of the coat were pale white and gold designs, but the sleeves exposed his arms from his forearm down. Once that was done, he took a long string of gold bells and a belt, tying them around his waist. The tiny bells chimed together when he moved, making a pretty twinkling sound. Next, he slipped off his brown sandals and replaced them with a pair of sterling silver slippers that left his ankles exposed before wrapping two gold-bell anklets around each ankle. Now came the hard part: putting on the bell bracelets—a task next to impossible to do with one hand. After a small war with the heavy bells, he finally growled in defeat and slammed them down at his side.

"Need some help?" Mahado offered, kneeling over so he was eye-level with the young man.

"Please," Bakura replied, holding out his bare wrist and the bracelet of bells in the other hand. With a simple click, Mahado secured the bracelet in place before moving on to the next one.

"Are you wearing your emerald?" Mahado asked, surprised when he notice the lump over his heart since Bakura rarely wore the object out of fear of losing it.

"Under my coat," Bakura replied, while Mahado clasped the bracelet around his second wrist. "Like hell am I letting the guards jump to conclusions and take it from me."

"Clever," Mahado nodded. "Where's Mana?"

"Right here!" The girl emerged, dressed in the outlandish outfit that showed off her slender arms and legs and her elegantly curved shoulders. She carried a lyre in one hand and a rod that matched her costume in the other.

"Then let's make haste!" Mahado led the other two, grabbing a flute.

The three dashed towards a corner, not far from the clearing but far enough to attract attention. Mana removed her hat and placed it on the floor, then plopped herself on a crate with the lyre in her lap. Once comfortable, she began playing. Taking a position on the back corner, Mahado followed her example and began playing the flute.

Bakura took that as his cue and stood tall with his wrists held above his head, then he spun around elegantly and began a dance he knew by heart. The bells jingled around his wrists and ankles as he moved, shaking with a smooth vibration like multiple ice coated branches clinging against one another in the wind. The sound intensified as he shook and rolled his hips. Soon, a crowd formed, clapping their hands and throwing gold coins in the hat. Others snorted at them and glared in disgust.

Bakura didn't hear them. He danced his heart out before doing a back flip and landing in an elegant crotch, earning cheers and whoots of approval from the crowd.

He was in his own world, a world where he was in control. Where he had no fear of guards or prosecution, only aware of the freedom and weightlessness he felt with each graceful step. Each elegant spin, each thrust foreword or jump back made him feel like he was dancing on air. He smirked as all eyes followed him; as women and men alike followed the curve and flow of his body before leaving, either ashamed or disgusted by their thoughts or because something else demanded their attention.

He didn't care. When he danced, he was in control. He was the one swooning anyone who saw him to his will, to get them to forget about their silly, simple lives and focus only on him and give him whatever he wanted.  
His smile curled at the corners as more gold began to fill the hat. After all, what good were a talent and a passion if he couldn't use them to help his family?

He laughed as he danced; the bells chiming perfectly with each graceful step.

This was why they came to Paris, why he left Spain and followed his gypsy family: because, despite the prejudice, despite the guards, despite the radical crusaders who saw them as pests, or criminals, or tried to brand them as heretics when they were no less Christian than anyone who attended Notre Dame, Paris was a City of Dreams. A city that, like the beautiful sanctuary of Notre Dame, named after the patron saint of outcasts herself, offered the people and all those who came there hope for a better future.

At least that was how Bakura saw it.

* * *

_ Paris._ He spat to himself, throwing a rich black and violet mantle over his shoulder. Hard lavender eyes glared at the map that did nothing to aid him in his quest. His eyes darted about the city where identical half-timber houses and Gothic buildings made up the core of the city, separated only by cobblestone streets. The combination created an enormous labyrinth one could easily get lost in for decades. The only area that looked remotely different from the rest of the city was the courtyard where the stunning cathedral, Notre Dame, towered over the rest of the city.

It had been decades since he'd returned to the city and already he despised it. He'd left the city and his life behind when he forsook university back when his brother had become Bishop and adopted the ward the church affectionately called 'the angel of Notre Dame.' His brother - just the word left a bad taste in his mouth – was the only reason he'd returned to the city in the first place.

He'd always delighted himself with sex (men or women), games and drinks, all of which had been drawn to an abrupt halt when the overly-righteous man had cut off his money and demanded his return to Notre Dame.

He growled in annoyance, crumbling the useless map in his hands and tossing it over his shoulder. "God damn him," he cursed his elder twin. "I haven't been in this city in almost fifteen years! How dare he summon me back!" he growled in furry. His wild mane of bleached blond hair bristled around in his anger. He quickly composed himself and brushed imaginary dust from his black and purple armor.

It didn't matter why he was in Paris; all that mattered was that he was. "Besides," a dark smirk curled across his lips as he gazed at the festivities being prepared, "what better time to return to Paris than the Mardi Gras Festival?" He licked his lips. Mardi Gras always was his favorite holiday; the one day when it was okay to be sinful and party yourself sick. But first he had to affirm his new position with his brother and assert his authority. Then he could have his fun.

"Pff," he snorted, looking around with no sense of direction. "You leave town for a decade and they change everything," he groaned in annoyance, stomping through the streets.

The cobblestone courtyard spread before him, winding in all directions like the back of a multi-headed, dust-colored snake, lined on either side by identical buildings, separated only by arches overhead. Bakers, weavers, millers and their wives flocked the streets and shops, shouting and scolding at either each other or their customers. Birds flocked the roofs and children frolicked in the streets, seeking treats. Horses drank form troughs or ate barrels of hay. Fifteen years and the city looked as boring and annoying as it did the day he left, yet somehow, everything changed to the point where nothing was as he remembered.

What little money he had left from his journey jingled in his pocket, obnoxiously reminding him of the desperateness of his separation. His brother better of kept his word. It didn't matter if the Bishop saw this as his last chance to spare his brother's soul from eternal damnation, as long as the new position and the riches it guaranteed were legit, he couldn't cared less. He didn't need to be reminded he was going to hell, his brother made that fact perfectly clear when the man found out he'd spent all his time at university enjoying carnal pleasures for the first time in his life.

So what if he was a failure as a scholar? His brother was already the Bishop and far more intelligent than the both of them. And wasn't the Bishop already raising that angel he adored as penance for any sins he committed? Didn't that mean he was in the clear? The man laughed.

His musing was interrupted when a flock of courtiers dressed lavishly for the festivities flocked the streets, strolling towards the center courtyard where the main festivities would take place. Their heads were held high and their noses were upturned to assert their superiority among society. He snorted and pivoted his heel, joining a crowd. He was a noble now, after all - if his brother kept his word. Any direction to the heart of the city was better than asking one of those simple-minded peasants for help—pride had kept him silent earlier. Let the stupid courtiers have their fun, why ruin it by informing them how insignificant they truly were?

He grinned with delight when he rounded the corner. The bell towers of Notre Dame towered dramatically over the plaza, telling him the heart of the city was just around the corner. The Palace of Justice wouldn't be too far.

A little girl ran in front of his path, pulling fiercely on her mother's hand towards a small circle where a crowd had gathered. Her eyes widened with childish wonder, releasing a squeal of excitement.

"Stay away, child!" The woman scolded as they passed, "They're gypsies, they'll steal us blind!"

His eyes darted to what had aroused the girl's amusement. _Gypsies huh?_ He wondered curiously, and strolled over. He had time to kill.

Forcing his way through the crowd, his eyes widened as he took in the spectacle before him. In a corner just outside the center of the ally, a group of three danced and played without a care in the world. In the corner, sitting on a stack of boxes with a lyre in her lap, sat a girl in a revealing gold and lavender outfit; sunshine yellow hair cascaded down her back, swishing as she swung her head in a flowing, rhythmic pattern. Her elegant fingers danced across the lyre strings, creating a blissful tune. He licked his lips at the sight of her. Youth was still evident in her childish appearance but adolescents had certainly been kind to her.

Across from her in the back of the threesome, a man in an outrageous purple mantle and robe sat cross-legged, suspended on a flat crate that gave the illusion that he was floating. His eyes were closed but he played a flute with all the skill and talent of a mythological satyr. His music was in perfect tune with the girl playing the lyre and the bells that rang with a sweet sound every time the dancer, the ringleader of the threesome, moved his body.

Taking pity on the entertainment, he pulled two gold coins from his purse and dropped them into the hat by the girl. His brother could always pay him back. Slowly, as he turned to leave, his eyes caught sight of the third spectator as he spun around as elegantly and easily as if he was floating.

He froze at the sight of the dancer. What adolescence had done for the girl, adulthood had made perfection of the young man. His body was lean and perfectly proportioned; the gypsy's height around the same as his, maybe an inch or so shorter. Delicious caramel skin pulled tightly over slender arms and legs with firm muscles. He licked his lips, wondering if that skin tasted as delicious as it looked. The gypsy's face matched his form flawlessly; his features sharp, elegant, and clear of all blemishes. A long mane of wild, quick-silver hair cascaded in elegant spikes down his back while the bangs spiked up like bat-wings, revealing his eyes. The crown jewel of the gypsy's appearance was his large but sharp eyes; the most striking color green he'd ever seen.

Just as he turned to face him, the gypsy boy smiled. The shadows of the clearing they'd chosen played off his features, illuminating him in a way neither the darkness nor the light could separate. Then, suddenly, the Gypsy's eyes met his and he smiled. A seductive smile played across his face. He lowered his wrists to his side and shook his hips; the bells around his waist, wrists and ankles chiming in accordance with their master.

Again, the man danced, the smirk on his face never changing. Good God, if this was what the man did when he was teasing, he couldn't even begin to imagine what he was like in bed. He licked his lips at the idea, wondering what he'd look like in only the bells. He wondered who he'd have to pay just to spend one night with him. The thought formed a huge pit of desire in his mind.

A loud whistle broke his concentration. Above the crowd, on a ledge, a boy with a wild mane of sky-blue hair stood with a concerned look on his face before jumping down on the other side of the wall. The three froze, then scattered.

He growled in furry. How dare they leave before he got that gypsy's name! He turned to glare at the reason for their departure, and then froze. Three men in heavy black and grey armor arose into the clearing; their eyes focused on one thing. He followed their gaze and his gut twisted with a mixture of delight and anger.

They were focused on the gypsy on the street gathering gold coins—the very gypsy he, not a moment ago, had intended to prostitute.

* * *

Bakura resisted the urge to curse when Syrus, one of the boys he knew from Chaos' court, whistled loudly, a sign of their warning signal. Mahado and Mana followed his example and stopped their playing instantly. The two made a dash back towards the plaza, just as three guards in black armor poured into the streets. At least back in the plaza with the costumes and entertainers, they'd be safe.

Mahado sprinted to the edge, waiting for the younger two. In her hastiness, Mana grabbed her hat, but it toppled over, spilling the coins.

"No!" she screamed in horror and dove to retrieve them but Bakura stopped her.

"No time, go with Mahado; I'll get them!" He told her and gently shoved the girl towards Mahado.

"Bakura," Mahado shouted at him, but the green-eyed gypsy ignored him. "Damn it, why doesn't the boy ever listen?" Mahado cursed, dragging Mana back to the plaza. Once she was out of harm's way, he could then scold his younger sibling for his reckless bravado.

Once the two were out of sight, Bakura dove to the ground and scooped as many of the coins into the hat as he could, ignoring the men as they charged closer. Like hell he was letting those corrupt bureaucrats rob him of his family's hard-earned money.

A smirk of victory crossed his face when he stuffed the last coin in the hat but his heart sank when three pairs of heavy, armor boots blocked his path. Before he could look up, two men wrenched him to his feet. One of them made a grab for the hat, but he balled it into a pouch and evaded the man's hand and struggled against his two captures.

"Alright gypsy, where'd you get the money?" A tall guard with short blond hair and cold grey eyes ordered, making a grab for the hat he'd balled into a pouch. But he evaded the man's hand and struggled against his two captures.

"For your information, I earned it!" Bakura protested, wrenching one of his arms free from a younger guard: a man with outrageous spiked brown hair, a Spanish tan, and large grey eyes.

"Gypsies don't 'ern money," he snapped in a rough British accent.

"That's right!" The third man snatched the bag from Bakura's hand tauntingly. "They steal it," he said with a gleam in his large grey eyes; blood red hair curled neatly beneath his helm.

"Yeah, 'cause you'd know all about stealing, wouldn't you?" Bakura snapped with a dark chuckle before elbowing his current captor, forcing him to let go. Taking advantage of the redhead's shock, he grabbed the bag and made a dash for the plaza but the blond man snatched his arm in his thick, meaty grip.

"Trouble maker, huh," he laughed arrogantly. "Maybe a day in the stocks will cool you down."

"I don't think so," Bakura grinned before kicking the man in the jaw. The guard reeled back in pain.

"Hey!" The two guards lunged at him but Bakura evaded their lunges with a clever step to the side, then back. "Oh come on boys, you can do better than that," he taunted before backing up against the wall. The three guards cornered him, but he stood cool and confident. When the three men lunged, he knelt to the ground and, with a powerful leap, jumped over them as they crashed together and somersaulted into a landing. Rolling back to his feet, Bakura ran toward the far wall and, with quick steps, ran up the side. Then, he grabbed one of the low- hanging gutters and hoisted himself onto the roof. He could hear the clatter of the guards' boots on the ground, shouting curses and screaming at him to come down.

"Bye boys!" He teased with a wink. With that, he sprinted across the roof. The guard followed him, parallel on the ground. Again, he evaded them with an elegant leap from the building to the wall and vanished over it. A wall blocked the passage, too tall for three men in heavy armor to climb, meaning by the time the guards got around to the other side, the gypsy would be long gone. Bakura laughed victoriously from the other side, laughing all the way down the street as he heard the guards cursing from the other side.

He licked his lips greedily as he opened the hat and counted the heavy spoils, his eyes grinning as he examined a gold coin between his fingers. "Today was a good day," he chuckled re-entering the plaza—only to freeze when he found his guardian and older siblings standing in a half-circle waiting for him. Their arms crossed and a hard, stern look filled their faces. Chaos tapped his foot impatiently; the look on his face was one that always made Bakura shiver as a child, and it had yet to lose that effect.

"What?" Bakura asked, trying to play innocent, but knowing a scolding was inevitable.

"What," Chaos began sharply, "did I just get through telling you not to do half an hour ago?"  
Shit. This wasn't the first time he'd let his arrogance get the better of him when it came to outwitting the Bishop's guards. And this time he certainly wouldn't receive any leniency, like he did in the past "I got away, didn't I?" He could've kicked himself for such a lame excuse.

* * *

He didn't know if he should've laughed at the guard's stupidity or shake his head in disappointment. In the span of five minutes, three of his brother's guards had been both outwitted and humiliated by a mere gypsy. Although he couldn't deny boy's flexibility gave him a few thoughts that would give his brother a heart attack if he ever found out about them.

"Ah! That was pathetic!" he said, purposely boisterous.

The three guards turned to him with confused expressions.

He laughed at their idiocy. "No wonder the bishop hired a new Captain. If his guards are so pathetic they can't even catch a simple gypsy boy, it's no wonder crime is so rampant in Paris!" His mocking tone and laughter caused all three men to growl in anger and mortification, their egos clearly bruised by the dismissal of their skills.

"Why you-" The blond man lunged at him but he stood still. The second the blond guard fisted his shirt, he snatched the man's wrists and gave it a painful twist, then threw him to the ground. The guard groaned in pain.

"We'll teach you, peasant!" The remaining two glared at the man dangerously. Each pulled a dagger from their belts, hoping to scare him into submission. He rolled his eyes and decided enough was enough. It was time to remind these simpletons of their place. He pushed aside his cape and pulled out an elegant silver sword with the Bishop's seal etched on the blade.

"I beg your pardon, Lieutenants?" he mocked with an arrogant smile.  
Immediately, the two men dropped their daggers, stuttering in fear and horror, "Captain Malik!" They retreated so quickly one of them stumbled and the other struck his own helm trying to salute. Ignoring their mortification, the two straightened themselves up and saluted. "At your service sir!"

Captain Malik smirked. Seems his brother had kept his word after all. "Now then," he drew back his sword and embedded the tip in the ground, mere centimeters from the blond man's face. He froze and gazed up at his Captain, praying his actions, which could be condemned as treason, would not be reported.

"Lieutenant Raphael, is it?" he asked the blond man.

Raphael nodded.

Malik smiled victoriously. "The Palace of Justice, if you'd be so kind?"

* * *

With the guards leading the way and clearing the path of any civilians, Malik reached the Palace of Justice much faster than expected. A pit rose in his gullet at the thought of seeing his brother again. Though the two had always shared a strong bond, Marik never let it slip that he thought his brother was beyond redemption. It made him wonder what his true motive was for summoning him back to Paris; he knew better than anyone Marik wouldn't just cut off his spending and then grant him one of the highest positions in Paris out of the goodness of his heart.

The castle had not changed since the death of Saint Louise. It still maintained all the beauty of a stunning medieval French castle. The Conciergerie looked just as domineering and magnificent as it had back then and the dark stone framework and roofs chilled anyone who entered it. An appropriate appearance since it was now the house of the courts, which, no doubt, always spelled doom for the accused.  
When he entered the front gates, he dismissed the guards and called for the Bishop; it was high time the two settled this issue.

"Malik." The Captain looked up at the sound of his name. The Bishop stood before him, a taller, identical version of himself: sharp lavender eyes, wild bleached bone-white hair, sharp features and dark skin despite the man's lack of sunlight. The only difference between them was that Marik's hair was wilder, he wore a black and purple cleric's robe and his features were sharper, more severe. Malik's were more aloof, his hair hung loose and wild and he was dressed in the armored outfit of a captain.

For a moment, the two stood on either side of the other, identical faces unreadable of emotion. Then Marik smiled. "I missed you, brother."

He opened his arms to hug the man, and despite himself, Malik returned it.

"Welcome back to Paris," he greeted.

Malik offered a small smile. "You didn't give me much of a choice," he joked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Seems not much has changed in fifteen years."

Marik sighed, his gazed darkening. "Yes, it's true." He turned around and motioned for his brother to follow him. He did so. Slowly, the two men traveled through the castle, avoiding the catacombs where prisoners lay behind bars or in torture devices while they awaited trial or were serving their sentences.

"It seems despite all my efforts to eradicate the corrupt from this city, it still exists," Marik spoke sadly. "My poor ward, lord bless his naïve soul. He can't see it, but I do." Finally, Marik led his brother to a balcony that offered a grand view of the city and the plaza below. The view was second only to Notre Dame herself. "I see the dark, evil heart of this city," he gestured towards the plaza where the circus was setting up for Notre Dame. All around the alleys, gypsies danced in the streets, beggars pleaded for money, and other outcasts flocked the city for the festivities.

"This is the one day of the year everyone, and I do mean everyone, comes out into the open," he chuckled darkly. "The gypsies have come to this city more than ever this year and with them all the corruption of the world." His hands gripped the banister.

Malik raised an eyebrow, failing to see the meaning behind his brother's logic.

"My ward believes these creatures are capable of goodness, that they can change, but he is young, naïve. He can't see the cruelty of Fate and that the outcasts are outcasts for a reason: because God decided it."

"Why did you summon me back to Paris, Marik?" Malik demanded lowly.

Marik turned to his brother with a smile. Even after fifteen years, the estrangement between them had not changed.

"I asked you to return here for the very reason I told you," Marik explained, "to be the Captain of the King's guards, or rather, the guards of the Palace of Justice. I am only a Bishop, Malik. My power among the law is limited, but with your help, we can eradicate the corruption of this city." He spoke grandly, as if the two were rushing off to a war, and each step Marik took closer to him, the more Malik liked the idea. "And, together, we can do what I have been trying to do for twenty years: find the Court of Miracles, the gypsy sanctuary."

Malik's face fell with disgust. "You summoned me after all this time to help you arrest fortune tellers and street dancers!" he roared furiously.

Marik grabbed the front of his brother's shirt and pulled him to his eye level. Rage blazed in his eyes as well as pity. "I summoned you here so you could do something with this miserable excuse of an existence you call a life!" Malik stumbled back when Marik forcefully let him go. He collected himself and listened to Marik's rant. "The gypsies are the leaders of the outcasts, the beggars, the poor, the prostitutes, the thieves, the corrupt! They infest this world like fleas on the carcass of a rat! Once we find their sanctuary, we find them all, and we can finally purge this city and return it to its shinning glory as the home of Our Lady." Marik's voice changed from one of disgusted horror to one of mad glory. "Imagine it, brother," he turned to Malik with a look of sheer bliss. "Our city, free of all corruption."

"A lovely dream." Malik agreed with a dark grin. "So, what do you want me to do?"

Marik matched his brother's grin. "I want you to capture any outcast you see, any gypsy. If they break the law, imprison them and I want you and your guard to expel them from the city." A dark glimmer of triumph flashed in Marik's eyes. "I know it won't be easy, but I know between the two of us, we shall succeed." He took Malik's hand and clasped it in his own, a memento from when they were children. Malik smiled and squeezed his brother's hand in agreement.

Behind them, the noon bells rang loudly from Notre Dame.

"Ah, duty calls," Marik sighed disappointed, but none the less turned to leave. "When was the last time you attended the Mardi Gras festival?" he asked in a sly tone.

"Not since before I left," Malik replied, licking his lips at the festivities he was about to partake in.

"Good," Marik sighed before stopping in his tracks, causing Malik to crash in to him.

The captain opened his mouth to demand an explanation but Marik had beaten him to it. "Then I have only one request." The look on Marik's faced silenced Malik in an instant. "My ward is going to be at the festivities, in disguise, most likely. I'm testing him, you see. Therefore," he turned to Malik with grave protectiveness, "if you see Ryou Glory, do not approach him, do not speak to him, do not even look at him or say his name. I don't want him to know that you or I know of his presence there. I want to test him. If he succeeds, I have underestimated him. If he fails, however, I shall punish him as I see fit.

Malik nodded and rolled his eyes once Marik turned around. If it weren't for the man's keen hearing, he'd have growled under his breath.  
Ever over-protective of that brat, Malik growled, a damn shame. The boy was too beautiful to be locked away by Marik's life of chastity and sacrifice. But oh well, it didn't matter, Malik smirked to himself. Today, he was free to do as he wished. Tomorrow, he'd officially begin his duty as Captain of the Guard.

* * *

I'm so proud of how this chap came out.

It got a few rewrites while typing and editing. PAY ATTENTION TO THE EMERALD!

Also Malik has arrived! Yes, and he is EVIL! XD Malik and Marik: those two are quite something as twins aren't they? These two are what you call: one twin is good and the other twin is evil. Now the question is, which one? Mwahahahahahaha! I told you to scrap all you know about Phebous! Mwahahaha! But be warned, Malik may surprise you in this!

As always enjoy! Again Special thanks to Chi for betaing!


	6. Festival

I know Its been too long since I updated this fic!

Here is the long awaited Festival chap! well half of it, half way through writing it I realized this chapter would be WAY to long if it was one chap, so I decided to follow my instinct and leave it at an evil cliffhanger and split it into two chapters-so most of the fun stuff will be next chap ^-^.

**Announcement: **anyway, though I know i'm gonna break a lot of hearts, after this chapter, both AIEW and OL will be on temporary hold. Why, becase I have a new story for Winter, the Frost King, which is a VERY short story so I want to finish that, and also I've been working on Dragon's Rose for almost two years and I HATE taking so long to finish a story so, my goal is to finish those two stories by my spring break (preferably my February one, but NO later than my Easter one) also due to college, I've taken FAR too long of a break from my original work, and since I will be spending a week in Baltimore, i plan on getting as much of m original work: character sheets, plans etc. done as possible and e-mailing everyone on my list the original work (if you are on this list or are interested in seeing my original stuff, for Nevermore and my Fairy Tale series, PLEASE PM me you're e-mail address, just so i make sure everyone gets a copy. thank you)

So again, my apologies but i have a lot to do, and if I get everything done, I'll be able to work on OL and AIEW much more often and get the chapters up faster. Thank you all for understanding. In the meantime, my art work and my character designs for my original works will be available on devinatart (see my profile for link) and I would love feedback ^-^

**Dedications: **To all my friends and family, especially Pubby-chan who like me has decided to add more good tendershipping to this site, and Chicary for continuing to be the best beta ever! I luv you girls!

**Disclaimer: **Yugioh and all its characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi, and the Hunchback of Notre Dame in which this story was inspired was written by Viktor Hugo, which inspired the plays and Disney movie, which has also inspired this fic. I do however, own the Grigori idea (which are guardian angels) and Ryou's outfit.

* * *

_Chapter Six: Festival_

"There, you look absolutely breathtaking." Yugi clapped his hands together giddily. The exuberant Grigori snapped the final piece of Ryou's costume in place then stepped back to admire their work.

"Thanks Yugi." Ryou smiled, turned to the makeshift mirror in the corner and spun around, viewing his masterpiece from all angles. In the corner, Yami pushed the loose stones beneath the bed back into place. They'd done their job and kept the secret all these years.

"Who'd of thought that all those years of pricking my fingers and learning to stitch would pay off," Ryou giggled. He finally rearranged his mask - a simple green silk trimmed with gold glitter along the edges - into place. His reflection beamed back. He spun around again, loving how the split tail of his velvet green Frock coat flared over his purple and green striped tights. Gold buttons, closed from collar to navel, glittered in the dim light; purple fur trimmed the cuffs of the sleeves, hems and collar. Beneath the coat, he wore a thick long-sleeved shirt for warmth. It'd taken him years to make it: gathering the materials, dying the fabrics and fur, and the painful stitching lessons from the nuns, but gazing at his work, it was well worth it. He'd spiced the coat up with sharp, butterfly-like wings made from thick black wires, decorated with purple and black mesh in a variety of shades; the tips were painted black. The simple green sash around the waist had actually been a gift from the Grigori when he was younger after the Bishop decided he was too old for frivolous things like birthday presents. The tail, sash and wings fanned behind, adding to the fairy-illusion he'd created. Completing the outfit was a pair of calf-high boots with thick gold buckles the Bishop had given him when he'd outgrown his old ones.

But it was the final piece - the hat - that Ryou was the most proud of. The black top hat had ended up in his grasp completely by accident, but he couldn't resist tying a green ribbon around it. Over the years, it became an explosion of black, purple and green feathers each tipped with gold glitter. He'd even added an old playing card, the Ace of Spades, to spice it up more. Ryou tied his hair back in a low ponytail and tilted the hat over his eye. Combined with his coat, he felt like an English gentleman – at least how he thought an English gentleman would dress. He giggled at the thought of the "uptight pompous heretics" as Marik called them, dressing up in an explosion of Mardi Gras colors.

"Thank God." Yami chuckled, watching his son delightfully dancing in front of the mirror. "I was afraid that thing would eventually rot beneath the stones."

"Of course not!" Yugi protested from his perch on Ryou's bed. "We put so much work into that costume."

"None of us ever thought I'd have the courage to actually wear it for more than just pretend," Ryou teased, checking his mask one last time before turning to the Grigori. "Well, how do I look?"

"You look stunning," Atem commented first, much to the surprise of his mates. The eldest Grigori's eyes lit up and he hugged Ryou, and scanned him over. "Truly, you do."

Light pink splashed beneath Ryou's mask. "Thanks Atem."

"Now, go knock'em dead," Yami added, ushering him outside. As if on cue, the noon bells began ringing. The four rushed to the balcony outside. An enormous crowd swamped the plaza beneath the church in a flood of costumes and courtiers, leaving only a single strip of sandy cobblestone between the church and the stage. From the opposite clearing, tall figures shadowed completely in black cloaks entered the plaza carrying long poles.

Chanting suddenly filled the air, followed by the faint sound of music. All across the roofs, banners and streamers in gold, green and purple fluttered in the air of anticipation.

"Drats! It's starting!"

"Hurry up Ryou, or you'll miss it!"

"And for Heaven's sake be careful!"

"I will, I promise!" Ryou promised the fussing Grigori. He swung over the balcony and climbed down the front of the Church, using the gargoyles and buttresses like a ladder to the second level.

"Be careful!"

"Have fun!"

"Don't talk to _anyone _you don't know!"

The Grigori shouted their final warnings like parents seeing off their first child before he left for an apprenticeship. Ryou swore he saw tears glittering in Yugi's eyes, Atem's terrified nails sinking into the stone and Yami's grin beaming. He couldn't help but smile.

Finally, he slid down the last buttress and grabbed one of the streamers. It snapped under his weight. He gripped it tightly and swung over the crowd until he finally dropped right in the middle of the empty clearing.

He felt the intense eyes of the crowd burning at him with stark confusion, curiosity or annoyance on their masked faces. The chanting and marching of the cloaked figures didn't stop. The glowing eyes beneath their masks made Ryou feel unbearably uncomfortable. He jumped to his feet and made a dash for the crowd but was stopped by the people throwing up their hands and arms, cheering and shouting and laughing in glee. The sudden change in demeanor almost gave Ryou a heart attack. The screeching crowd blocked his path, trapping him in the circle like a tiger in a cage. He screamed and backed up, almost crashing into an impossibly tall figure. The figure's face and body shadowed by a black cloak. The cacophony exploded in his ears like a swarm of buzzing insects. The loud voices were harsh and chaotic; the complete opposite of the smooth, gentle tempos of his precious bells.

"Come one, Come all!" The chanting began. It was slow and simple at first. The crowd's exuberance died down, replaced by anticipation. Words blended together, filling Ryou's ears: lyrics speaking of leaving the chains of society, the rules and regulations that governed the ways of living, and of unification. There were no courtiers or commoners, no Gypsies or Christians, nor priests or heretics: today they were all the same. Today, they were all fools of the Mardi Gras.

"Come one. Come all. Come and join…" The robed figures stopped, they pressed the butt of the staffs against the cobble stones with a loud, echoing clank.

Ryou froze. His heart hammered in his chest. He backed as close to the crowd as he could. His entire body shook, suddenly possessed by a nameless emotion like disappointment and excitement, power and helplessness all at once. The entire world stopped in an instant. Everything was stoic and profound, even the air refused to dance. For an instant, the entire world had become twice its normal size and Ryou felt like he'd shrunk to the size of a mouse. It was the final second just before the drop of a waterfall, when all the anticipation, excitement, fear and emotion spiraled together in a single second before vanishing with the final drop of adrenaline.

"Come join the Mardi…"

* * *

Bakura kicked the stool across the room and then growled when pain exploded in his toes. "This is completely unfair!" He growled again.

"Quit complaining and get your costume on," Mana ordered. Bakura glared at his sister. She sat cross-legged on a box with her hands and chin folded over a fancy baton. The bangles around her wrists and ankles jingled together when she moved.

Not even caring that Mana was still in the room, he glared at the costume in the corner: a folded pile of green, gold and black, glitter, sparkles and leather. "I am _not _wearing that in public," he said stubbornly.

Mana rolled her eyes. "Stop being a baby. It's your own fault."

Bakura snorted and resisted the urge to pout like a child. "Oh come on, Chaos knows it's not the first time I've been in trouble with guards."

"Bakura, you're too reckless!" Mana scolded. "You're always going off and getting into trouble and one of these days you're not going to be able to get out of it. Chaos knows that, Mahado knows that, I know that." She repositioned herself so she was now lying on her stomach. "You don't. One of these days you're going to get yourself killed, Bakura."

"No, I won't." Bakura protested. "I'm not that selfish."

"I beg your pardon?" Mana asked.

"If I get killed or captured or anything like that, I'd terrify you three and if I did anything to hurt you, I'd never forgive myself, even if you three did." The white-haired gypsy crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the tent. "Like I said, I'm not that selfish."

Mana sighed, then smiled and got up. "You're too sweet, Bakura." His sister kissed his cheek, and then dashed through the curtains before he could yell at her. "Now hurry up, you're almost on!"

Bakura growled and stomped his foot. "How the hell is she older than me? She acts like a child!" He ran a hand through his hair and snatched the costume from the box, pieces scattering at his feet. He took in what Chaos asked him to wear and grimaced, visibly. "I'm going to kill Chaos for this."

* * *

"GRAS!"

Then it happened. The final burst.

A tall man with abnormally pale skin, dressed in shiny midnight and red clothing with dramatically long black hair spilling from beneath an outrageous black and red hat, leapt into the air over the robed figures and landed in a handstand before flipping over. The second his feet touched the ground, confetti, sparklers and fireworks exploded. Shouts of delight exploded into the air. Confetti and streamers blanketed the sky like shattered rainbows. Banners fell freely from the poles the robed figures carried decorated with vibrant colors and symbols. Instruments roared to life. All while the man in black, the Ringleader, flipped and sang and started the celebration.

The robed figures burst free from the shadowy cloaks, exposing outrageously colored costumes before they vanished into the crowd. Entertainers suddenly flooded the streets. Ribbon dancers in glittering golden outfits spun ribbons like tendrils of wind around them. Following them, jesters juggled fruits and shiny objects while others threw batons and flung fire sticks into the air. Men in jester costumes on stilt-legs as tall as houses walked awkwardly into the area. Dogs jumped through hoops and walked on huge balls. Birds flooded the air, flying in arial formations. Musicians blew trumpets, banged drums, and rang bells. Music and colors exploded; all of them working together in some bizarre, chaotic parade with the Ringleader at the center.

Ryou's eyes widened with both excitement and fear. Entertainers, shoppers and party-goers crashed into him whenever he tried to move. Before he could blink, he found himself swept into a circle of laughing dancers, then he found himself among a circle of children watching a puppet show. It was too much; it was like seeing for the first time. But for Ryou, it was like the first taste of pure freedom. He was no longer restricted to the Tower, and could laugh, sing, dance, and play all he wanted and no one could stop him. The mere concept almost made his heart burst with excitement.

Suddenly, the man in black burst in front of him. Ryou screamed and stumbled backwards, crashing into a woman in a dress. The man next to her shoved Ryou back into the party. He stumbled and grabbed the rim of his hat and pulled it closer against his head. Last thing he needed was to lose it. Not only was it one of his proudest creations, but without it, his white air stuck out like the first star in the pitch black sky. He hadn't found the Bishop yet, or his brother but the last thing he wanted was to take the chance.

Ryou smiled, watching as nobles, peasants and guards dance together in a huge circle holding hands; all of them in costume and laughing without a care in the world. _Why can't it be like this every day? _Ryou asked himself. Why did Mardi Gras have to be only once a year? Why did it have to be the one time people were allowed to throw away their prejudice and converse with others. According to the Bishop "The Mardi Gras is a necessary evil, it's the one day of the year people aren't bound by their morals and righteousness, so it gets the devil out of them," Ryou imitated in his best voice. He giggled slightly. "Any more and they would take advantage of it. One day is enough." Ryou shook his head. "He's wrong; it isn't about pleasure or fun." He concluded, strolling away from the chaos and watching people who any other day would deny the other's existence, coerce and chat. "Mardi Gras is the only time where people are free to be themselves." He smiled and leaned back, not noticing there was nothing solid behind him, only cloth. Losing his balance, he screamed and stumbled into a make-shift tent.

He tried to grab anything he could but the back of his leg hit something. His ankle lost its footing and his feet flew into air. "Ah!" he screamed and grabbed a curtain for support, but the rings snapped from the pole and everything collapsed on top of him.

"Hey!" A harsh voice growled, laced with furry and embarrassment.

Bakura quickly grabbed the mask and shoved it in place. He clutched the front of his coat closed and whirled around. He glared furiously at the lump moving around on the floor beneath the fallen curtain.

"I'm sorry, I didn't…" Bakura watched the boy pull the blanket free from him. The force tore his hat from his head, causing a waterfall of long white hair to spill to his shoulders. The boy panicked and clumsily grabbed the hair tie and pulled his hair into a low ponytail, then fished around frantically for his abandoned hat. Bakura blinked, wondering if he should stay mad or help the pathetic creature. But then his pride kicked in and once the boy found his hat and shoved it over his head, Bakura reacted.

Ryou didn't have a chance to recover before someone grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him to his feet. His captor's face was hidden behind a thick mask but he met eyes as sharp, clear and green as emeralds.

"Listen, you pervert, just what the hell do you think you're doing!" Bakura demanded furiously, but paused when he found a child-like face, wide with confusion and fear, hidden beneath a simple cloth mask, the only decorations being small gold glitter swirls around the eyes.

"What! No!" Ryou pulled away and threw his hands up defensively. He shook his hands and head back and forth, and made a sign of a cross over himself. "I'm so sorry! I was outside and someone bumped into me, and I fell and I tried to steady myself, I didn't…oh dear, I'm so sorry." He blurted out apologies and incoherent stutters, until he was spun around and steadied by strong hands.

"Wow, wow, calm down." Bakura gently grabbed the boy's shoulders and shook him. He carefully readjusted the wire wings on the boy's costume and skimmed the panicking youth over.

Ryou paused immediately, calmed by the sudden tenderness and concern in it.

Now that he was calm, Bakura looked the boy over. He looked young, but only a few years younger than himself. His sweet, round, face still held onto the last of its baby fat and sported pink round cheeks and shiny, pallor skin like someone always in the sun but was unmarred by it. The costume he wore exposed a lean figure, slender but strong muscles pulsed beneath Bakura's fingers. Glittering tuffs of star-white hair peeked out beneath the mass of black velvet and feathers that made up his hat. The mask shielded most of his face from view, but beneath the fabric, Bakura found brilliant chocolate eyes, radiant against the green of the velvet and the white of his skin.

He blinked when he saw those eyes. Full of the innocence and nervousness of someone isolated from normal society, but carried the wisdom of someone who'd seen things no living person should see. Dark things.

"What's your name?" Bakura asked with a crooked, raised eyebrow, but there was awe in his voice.

Ryou couldn't breathe for a moment. Of all the people he'd met and encountered, both good and bad, he'd never seen such eyes as the man's before him nor the emotion in them. They were strong and fierce, yet concerned and kind and honestly worried about his well-being, but they did their best to keep that a secret. Shadows danced in them, like someone with many secrets he wanted to forget.

But the eyes were only one part that made up the man's brilliance. His feathers were sharp and angular. Glittering spikes of silver hair fell around his neck. That stunned him. As far as he knew, he was the only living person with hair that color. Seeing the beautiful, silvery color of the man's shiny hair even in the shadow of the tent, the thought now sounded arrogant. The man's stride was tall and proud, his smile and face neutral but his eyes spoke more than a thousand voices.

"Um…" Ryou couldn't answer at first.

Bakura brushed his bangs from his face and gently placed them behind his ear.

"My guardians call me mon Ange," Ryou explained. "You can call me that."

Bakura raised an eyebrow. "But that's not your real name?"

"I don't give out my real name to strangers, least not until I get to know them," Ryou explained, trying not to let this sudden feeling cloud his good judgment.

"Understandable." Bakura nodded. "Then you can call me Esmeralda."

"That suits you." Ryou smiled. "Um, are you a gypsy?" he asked.

Bakura's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I am. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Of course not," Ryou protested, "I was just wondering if you were performing today. If so, I'd love to see you again later. I haven't been to the Festival on my own before, so it'd be nice to have a familiar face."

Bakura raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You sound pretty resourceful for someone who's never been to the Festival before, Ange."

"I'm cautious," Ryou replied, cupping his arms behind his back, careful of his wings.

"Well, I'll be performing soon and after that, I'll be performing with my family in the circus, if you'd like to stay for the show. If you're still around, I'm free for the rest of the day." Bakura offered.

"That's perfect!" Ryou clapped his hands gleefully like a child with a new dream to follow. "The dances are my favorite part of the festival. Are you dancing, Mr. Esmeralda?"

"Just Esmeralda," Bakura said harshly, "I'm not that much older than you. And I'll be dancing and doing the acrobatics," Bakura boasted proudly.

"Wonderful!" Ryou cheered. "I love acrobatics! I'm superb at them, not to sound arrogant,"

"_You _know acrobatics?" Bakura snorted in disbelief.

Ryou glared at the remark. "As a matter of fact, yes, I do. I've performed several acts of gymnastics since I was a child."

"Yeah, where?" Bakura mocked.

Ryou smirked. "The towers and roof of Notre Dame." The stunned mystification on Bakura's face made Ryou's grin curl at the corners and, for once, he let the pride consume him. It felt good.

Bakura couldn't speak. His formed a small o-shape of surprise. Even now, he couldn't tell if Ange was joking with him or if he was serious. The grin on the boy's face made it harder to tell. It was serious, but at the same time, facts made the claim impossible to be true. No one could get to the roof of the church. The only ones there were nuns, bishops, cardinals, and…the rumors.

Realization made Bakura's eyes bulge. The light in his eyes made Ryou a tad nervous. Bakura poked his chest and proudly announced. "You're the Angel of Notre Dame? The one who rings the bells and lives in the tower and stuff?"

Ryou's eyes widened with horror, his mouth formed a protest, but before he could speak, the tent entrance flung open and a sweet voice announced its owner's presence. The tension and conversation broken, "Bakura you're—" she paused in mid sentence.

Two sets of eyes deadlocked with those of the girl standing in the entrance. Her large blue eyes expanded at the sight before her. Her arm went rigid with nervousness. "Um…Bakura, who is this?" she breathed, clearly unsure whether or not she wanted to know the answer.

Neither boy moved, their faces matching masks of shock. Bakura's jaw twisted in sheer anger at his own mortification and fury at being caught in a position beyond his control. Ryou's face was the exact opposite: his hands flew to silence his surprised gasps. Tremors of horror racked his entire form unsure what to do, and horrified by it.

"Am I—" Mana asked, unsure how to voice the question.

"No!" Bakura said quickly and smacked his forehead. "Mana, this is Ange. Ange, this is Mana, my sister."

"N-Nice to make your acquaintance," Ryou offered a nervous, shaking hand.

Mana blinked then giggled and bounced over to him. "My, you're very polite." She shook his hand. "Don't be so nervous. Any friend of Bakura's is a friend of mine."

"Bakura?" Ryou turned to the man he knew as Esmeralda.

"My full name is Bakura Esmeralda," Bakura snorted and crossed his arms angrily. Ryou flashed a small, nervous smile. Bakura couldn't help but smile at the sight. "So, do I get to know your name now?"

Ryou giggled and brushed a stray bang aside. "Not yet." He winked.

"Uh," Mana interrupted. "I hate to interrupt, but Bakura you're on soon."

"Oh, of course." Ryou nodded and started to leave. "I'll see you both later," he waved.

"Remember," Bakura dashed after him, just before Ryou was about to disappear. "Meet me after the show! I want to see those acrobatics you bragged about."

"Will do!" Ryou laughed before vanishing back into the festivities.

Bakura turned around, only to meet the smirking, know-it-all face of his older sister.

"What?" Bakura asked suspiciously in a poor attempt to hide his embarrassment.

"You like him." Mana smiled.

"How do you know?" Bakura glared at her, feeling his cheeks burn.

Mana burst out laughing. "Because it's written all over your face!"

* * *

Ryou was blushing the entire way back to the festivities. Everything seemed dim and minimal compared to his encounter with the lovely silver-haired gypsy. He was still blushing and couldn't stop giggling. It was strange, he'd never felt so happy or nervous before. Maybe he should ask the Grigori when he got back. He doubted the Bishop would have any idea what was wrong with him.

He was thrown out of his musing by the throng of people stampeding towards the center stage of the plaza. Multiple, larger bodies banged against his sides, throwing him back and forth like a rag doll against whatever was in front or behind him. Eventually, his chest slammed against one of the plaza walls. Seeking shelter from the mob, Ryou pressed himself against the wall and looked over his shoulder to check his wings. The wires were bent slightly, but other than that, they looked fine. He waited for the crowd to simmer down. His eyes turned to the source of the crowd's excitement.

The Ringleader and a purple-haired man dressed in outrageous purple armor, danced in a circle surrounded by people who clapped and cheered. The Ringleader spun his long black and red staff around him like a baton and danced around it as if it were a dance partner. Next, he slammed it into the ground and flipped onto the stage. He landed in a crotch position. Rainbow streamers and polychromatic confetti exploded as he got to his feet.

"Lord Chaos!" The crowd cheered in pure delight.

Following him, the man in purple armor burst from the crowd. He jumped onto the stage as elegantly as a panther and began dancing so fast his feet barely touched the ground. His purple cloak and hair fanned around him like dark wings. When he stopped, an explosion of smoke and butterflies made of light burst behind him. The crowd went wild, chanting his name "Lord Mahado!"

When the smoke cleared, a third dancer, a blond girl who Ryou recognized as Mana, danced across the stage. She threw flowers behind her that popped and turned into birds. The crowd cheered in delight at such a spectacular trick.

The three of them danced together across different sections of the stage in a spiral of twists, turns and steps. Chaos rang bells hanging on the streamers and banged drums. Mahado threw spheres into the air that exploded into multi-colored puffs of smoke. Mana spun her baton, threw it in the air and caught it in her hand, before landing in a split. Ryou clapped his hands in pure delight.

Then, Chaos sang, "Join the thieves and mistresses, join the priests and gypsies. Everyone is free and wild at the Mardi Gras!"

Ryou gathered around the stage with the throng. Using his small size to his advantage, he wove through the crowd until he reached the front of the stage. His fingers sank into the wood in anticipation. His eyes bulged with childish wonder and pure amusement. He inhaled sharply and exhaled just as fast in gasps of stunned mystification. The dance, the tricks, the music, the magic, it was spectacular! The gypsies danced with pure freedom: unbound by laws or restrictions. They were free: free to dance, free to sing, free to be wild and play tricks and have fun and do what they wish without any fear of persecution. They were one with their universe. They were freedom itself.

Trapped in the spell of Mardi Gras, no one noticed the guards entering the clearing. White horses and men in black and silver armor escorted a heavy black iron carriage. The carriage stopped and Raphael opened the door. Two men stepped outside. The Bishop stepped out first, looking regal and commanding as ever, dressed in white clothing assented with gold crosses. Were it any other day, the people would be feared and awed by his presence, but not today. He strolled into the clearing, his face a neutral mask. He allowed Raphael to guide him to his seat: a makeshift throne showered by curtains where he had the best view of the spectacles. Behind him trailed Malik, still wearing his black and silver armor. His posture was the opposite his brothers: dictatorial and controlling. Aggravation poured into each stop of his boot as he followed Marik. He watched Marik sit down in the cautioned wooden throne and took a seat in the chair next to him, crossing his ankle elegantly over his knee and slouching back in his chair.

He growled, watching the cheering and happy faces of the lowly townsfolk and the gypsy dancers on stage. He instantly recognized two of them from earlier and his aggravation increased. "Why do you just sit on the sidelines, brother?" Malik asked, but the harsh tone of his voice made it sound like a demand.

Still, Marik decided to humor him. "The Mardi Gras is the one day of the year we're suppose to act out, yet all you do is sit here and watch everyone else enjoy themselves. That can't possibly be fun for you, so why do you do it?" Malik tried to mask the jealousy and anger of the party-goers in his voice but failed miserably. Marik could read the undertones as clearly as he read the Bible.

"For the same reason you want to be down there, indulging in such sinful behavior, my brother." Marik flashed a smile that curled at the corners. His sharp lavender eyes gazed upon the people, the colors, the sounds, the shouts, the cheers and the dancing. "The Mardi Gras is a necessary evil, like money and class systems. On the surface, it seems like a good idea, but it encourages sin and corruption. The Mardi Gras is the one day a year the people are free to break their restrictions and indulge in their earthly pleasures, following the sacrifice they've chosen for Lent. It gives them freedom, then they return to their lives of purity and fasting. I choose to remain away because I choose to…fast as you call it. I choose to be above normal humans and follow only the will of God." Marik turned to Malik with dark eyes. "Just as you wish to be down there, indulging in your old habits and follow only the whims of yourself, rather than, for once in your life, practice some restriction."

Malik growled angrily at him. "But it's Mardi Gras! The one day you're suppose to—"

"Did you not hear what I just said?" Marik exploded. The two brothers glared at the other, their matching eyes mirrored the others, filled with anger and hate. Marik pulled away first, regaining his composure. Malik said nothing and turned his eyes back to the festivities, deciding to make the most of his wasted time.

Then suddenly, the music stopped. The dancing ceased and the three performers landed on the ground in an arrow shape. Then Chaos rose like a shadow.

"And now…" He danced across the stage, swooping his long limbs in flowing motions like the shadow of the setting sun rolling across the land.

"Come one…" Chaos sang in a low, deep voice. He dragged out the words as he moved, creating a mysterious tension "Come all."

As if on cue, Mahad and Mana rose like blooming flowers and stepped backwards onto the stage. "Hurry, hurry, here's your chance…" Chaos sang in hushed mellows, dancing towards the Bishop and his brother.

The three magicians suddenly drew cloaks from nothing and wrapped them around their shoulders, covering everything but their eyes. They moved in sync, backwards and forwards, making welcoming motions with their hands.

"See the wonder, see the dance," Mahad threw his cloak over his shoulder, mimicking Chaos' mysterious tone. An atmosphere of well-kept secrets arose with each word.

"Come, see the mystery and enchant," Mana added, shaking her hips like a flower in the wind. The cloak wrapped tightly around her body, clinging to her curves.

"See the power and romance," Chaos added. He covered his face with the cloak, then moved it aside and spun around to emphasize the aura of mystery. The crowd pushed and shoved closer towards the stage. Ryou felt his chest compress when he was shoved against the heavy wood, but ignored it. He, like everyone else, kept his eyes glued to the spectacle before him, waiting with anticipation for the magnificence the magicians promised.

"Come one, come all," the three backed up until they were back to back in a circle. Together, they dropped their cloaks to their sides and moved to the left.

"See the most beautiful being in all of France!" Chaos boasted with a wink.

"See the one they call the King of Thieves! One look and he will steal your heart," Mahado continued. "One look in his eyes, one sound of his voice, one look upon him and you will be his and his alone. Never will you forget his face, forget his stare or forget his dance."

"Come see him sing, see move, see him make a spectacle to enchant."

"Welcome!" They chanted together, raising their arms and stretching their hands. Multicolored spheres glittered between their fingers. "The Bakura Es-me-al-da-!"

They dragged out the last syllable of his name, then with a loud "DA," they vanished.

No one saw their arms move, only explosions of purple, pink and blue smoke and they disappeared with the smoke they conjured. Then the smoke began to move. It swirled to the left, guided by a gust of wind. Then it shot upward, then to the left again. A figure spun around and the smoke retracted like snakes pooling at his feet.

A new figure joined the festivities. One arm was held straight above his head and the other parallel at his side. Batons, like twin silver blades, spiraled in his hands until he caught the handles in mid-air. He stood still and perfect as a statue, commanding the attention of all of Paris in a single instant. Even the Bishop broke his reserve and leaned forward.

Then he spun around and revealed his true form.

All restriction broke. All expressions and faces were ones of pure emotion and astonishment. But for Ryou, it was different. There, dancing with all the power and commandment of God himself and looking absolutely breathtaking, stood none other than the gypsy boy he'd met not two minutes earlier.

"Bakura Esmeralda." Ryou breathed.

* * *

Well, not as evil as my other chapters, but I still thought that was a good place to end it. Next chap will be all the fun stuff, and I guarantee, it will be NOTHING like you guys expect :evil grin:

As always, read, review, comment, critique and ask questions and if you feel the need to flame or hate it, don't be an ass, ans just say "It sucks" TELL ME WHY! I can't fix it if i don't know what's wrong!

Also again thanks for understanding why i need a break. I hope in the meantime you will enjoy my other fics. I will NO abandon this story or All I Ever Wanted, I just have to finish a few other things first. Thank God for long winter breaks!


	7. Circus

**NOTE TO ALL MY READERS: **First off, I am SO sorry I took so long to update this story! I know I said I would finish it when I finished Dragon Rose and I still plan to, but I NEVER expected Frost King and Dragon Rose to take this long to finish, but OF COURSE college, RL and God knows what else just LOVES to fuck up my carefully planned deadlines. Now it looks like i have to push my Dragon rose and Frost King deadline back A WHOLE MONTH, because I spent like six weeks working on papers and final projects for school...thank GOD for my long winter break.

However, with that in mind I promised myself i would NEVER let a story NOT be updated long than a year, and I am ECSTATIC that I managed to accomplish that goal by not one but TWO days! I updated the last chapter on New Years and now (since Frost King STILL hasn't been returned from my beta) Here is the last update of the year!

Again, thank you SO much to all of my loyal readers for all of your patience and encouragement. I cannot apologize enough to the unexpected hiatus but rest assured I will NEVER leave a story unfinished and this story WILL be completed, and hopefully after January when I finish Dragon Rose and Frost King I can return to this story. Especially since i got past this chapter, I already got the next one in the works and from there the rest of the plot will sail nice and smoothly.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but the plot: This is based on Viktor Hugo's original novel, the Walt Disney Adaption and the Hunchback of Notre Dame Musical. Yugioh and all its characters belong to Kazuki Takehashi. I own nothing.

**WARNINGS: **Mentions of slight homophobia (intellectually, and only because of how Ryou was raised), also LOTS of acrobatic tricks PLEASE DO NOT TRY ANY OF THEM AT HOME! Religious themes, slight violence etc.

As always, read, review, reply, comment, critique and feel free to yell at me for the long wait.

* * *

_Chapter 7: Circus_

The crowd erupted. Not a single person wasn't cheering or trapped in awe. Bakura smirked at all their faces. The fawning swoons and wistful stares on the women. The licked lips of men at the sight of someone so beautiful, and the writhing expressions of jealousy and rage for making them desire another man. The cheers of delight, the gasps of astonishment, the leering eyes and adoring looks. The dropped, drooling jaws and dry lips. The whole crowd shoving and pushing towards the stage, desperate for a closer look at the one they called "The Glorious Emerald". Bakura loved every minute of it.

The Stage. This was his element. Where all he had to do was appear, beautiful and mysterious, from the swirling smoke and bask in the glory of all the stares and attention he received. This was why they called him the King of Thieves: one glance from Bakura and he immediately stole your heart. He commanded the attention of the courtyard like a king controlled a glorious empire. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see even the old bishop was staring wide-eyed at him, and he hadn't even started dancing yet.

Double-checking to make sure all eyes were on him, he twisted his body in a 30 degree angle moving his adjacent arm and the one at his side so they were both folded behind his head: the silver blades forming an X. He remained still for a moment, grinning as all his watchers leaned closer. Waiting. Finally, the music started playing in a slow melody.

Bakura burst to life with a sharp spin. His long dark green frock coat swirled with his movements. The velvety material folding and curving, highlighting every sharp turn of his hips, the action blazed the gold and purple flames spiraling along the hem of his train and sleeves to life. The silvery blades spun like pinwheels in his hands, as he moved them from behind his head into a diagonal line. The bells trimming his hem and cuffs jingled with a sweet chime as he danced.

With a sharp spin he gave the crew a view of his dazzling form for a sharp second. His long sun-kissed hair fanned beneath an enormous, curved, purple hat with an explosion of green and gold feathers. He juggled the blades in one hand while the other ripped off the hat and fanned it over his body before holding it straight in the air, revealing the emerald encrusted circlet he wore beneath. It did little to tame the wild, silver bangs that curled up like bat-wings. With his arm straight in the air he gave the crowd a view of the glittering gold and black vest, black slacks decorated with a gold, purple and green flame pattern that spiraled up his legs to the bright gold sash, decorated with purple and green moons and stars that he wore around his waist. Overall not a bad look but what irked him to no end were the purple curled toed slippers, and the bells he wore around his wrists and ankles. He tried not to think about how much he must've looked like a jester in them. If this was Chaos' punishment for getting in trouble with the guards, he'd _never_ do it again.

A string of cat-calls and whistles from the crowd reminded him of where he was. He met the crowd with slight green eyes illuminated by the black mask he wore, simple except for the explosion of green and purple swirls around the eyes and the curling green, gold, and purple feathers that highlighted his hair with flames. He swirled his hat in a circle hiding random parts of his body until he brought it to just beneath his eyes. The seductive leer in them sent the entire crowd screaming. Finally, he threw the hat randomly into the crowd. He juggled one of the knives into his free hand before picking a safe direction and chucked them with such force they embedded themselves into the stone of a nearby building. Then suddenly, he burst into a combination of jumps, spins and acrobatic movements: the push and pulls of his body, the left, right and circular thrusts of his hips; and the constant back and forward, up and down movements of his slender body combined with his costume gave him the allusion of Mardi Gras colored flames or a rarely colored peacock unfurling its feathers for all to see.

This was his element. The stage where he performed and the dance where he teased and taunted with his body until his viewers literally emptied their pockets to reward him for such delightful entertainment. With his dance, Bakura Esmeralda could seduce an entire city. And he loved every second of it.

Now, how to make this more interesting? He pondered as he back-flipped across the stage and listened to the crowd's cheers, which had become dominated by screaming girls. This wouldn't do, he had to keep things fresh. The crowd wouldn't pay up or even stay long if they got bored too quickly. Besides, this was Mardi Gras, people expected things to be wild and chaotic, something they secretly wanted to see but knew if they requested it any other time of the year they'd be branded as heretics, coercing with prostitutes, or something else that would make them join the scourges of society.

Suddenly, he recognized a familiar costume and his green eyes locked with familiar black. He smirked when those dark eyes widened with the startled realization that they had been caught staring. Bakura gave him a flirtatious wink grinning when a faint pink dusted the boy's cheeks. A wicked idea formed in Bakura's mind as he swaggered towards the boy he knew.

* * *

Marik rose in his seat when the new dancer emerged from the smoke. His stunned eyes forced his body to lean forward, if only to confirm what he was seeing. He'd never seen this boy perform before and, at first glance, he immediately mistook the youth for his own ward, Ryou Glory. But his fears of the youth living a double life of sin were quickly quashed when the smoke cleared and he saw that Ryou Glory and this boy shared nothing in common except for the color of their hair. Even that wasn't completely accurate. Unlike Ryou Glory's pale white locks, this boy's were darker and sun-kissed. Briefly, he wondered if the shiny, rough-looking tresses had started off gray and had been bleached white from the sun, transforming it into a quicksilver color. The dancer's skin had also been kissed by the sun, not as darkly as his and his brother's was, but still rich enough that it was no longer pink but a caramel color. Upon closer inspection he could see the boy was also lean but muscled, no doubt from the dancing he'd done, where has his own ward, possessed solely upper body strength from ringing the bells. Most vivid of all, the Bishop noticed, were the striking jeweled eyes beneath the black mask: they were a vivid shade of emerald green, the exact same color as the large pendant he wore about his slender throat.

"Look at that atrocious display," Marik sneered in disgust, watching the boy dance with the grace of a woman, but the flexibility of a talented acrobat.

"Oh yes," Malik's voice dripped with desire. Marik shuddered at the loud slapping sound of his brother licking his lips. The Bishop was unsurprised to find the lecher drooling over the dancing youth like a dog over a raw steak. Malik's eyes practically stripped the boy of the intricate costume he wore, causing his brother to return his gaze to the show, if only to spare his eyes such horror. Now that he looked at it, he had to admit the dancer's costume did a spectacular job hiding the boy's true beauty while at the same time boasting a proud figure. It hugged him in all the right places and hid only what needed to be hidden. Even though most of his skin had been covered Marik swore this was worse than if the boy had been dancing on stage completely bare.

That costume only made the dancer's being more mysterious, more tempting, more ravishing. It drew the eyes to it with its outrageous design and made one recognize its true beauty. Then it forced you to wonder what other beauty lie beneath. Each layer was another method of seduction. The inner most layer hugged his luscious form perfectly, but the sash and bells drew you to the toned waist, slim wrists, and bare ankles. The coat covered the entire thing, like a giant feathery fan, making you desperate for more. It made weak-willed souls want to see what was beneath.

Fortunately, the Bishop was _not_ a weak man. He did _not_ have a sinner's soul. _He_ was a righteous man. _He_ did not give into the temptations of the flesh or allow himself to be swayed and not one day after he agreed that his ward would be his Glory and not his Defeat had he let himself be seduced in any way.

So then why did Marik find his own jaw falling when the boy bounced across the stage? Why did his heart leapt against his throat when he watched the boy do back-flips across the stage? Was this a test? He immediately cursed himself for his moment of weakness. He pulled himself back in his chair and covered his dreary face with his hand. Through the creases of his fingers, he watched the boy swaggered across the stage, dancing with a boldness not allowed anywhere else but on Mardi Gras. He felt the desires of the flesh stir in him with each curve and twist of the boy's perfect body. Every slow movement, made his stomach flip and his nerves jump to life. Each time his arms rose, boasting his form, was like a rush of fire through his blood, filling him with something thrilling and disgusting.

_Lust._ He realized with horror. God, no doubt, was testing him. He chuckled to himself. Ironic, how he'd marked this day as a test for his ward of the very same thing and now he, himself, was being tested. Well no matter, he decided. If God wanted him to prove his ability to be free from temptation than he would do so with pride. He would not sink into sacrilege like his brother whose eyes continued to follow the boy's thrusting hips like a dog drooling over a hanging piece of meat.

No, _he_ was justly proud of his virtue.  
*

Ryou felt his heart stop beating when Bakura began swaggering towards him still dancing in that flirtatious manner that had the entire crowd acting like drunken fools. He felt his cheeks heating up beneath his mask when Bakura turned that leering smile towards him. Suddenly, the gypsy acrobat did a front flip landing in a handstand then a split with an elegant leap that earned him a string of whistles, cat-calls and applauds. His next trick, when he got up, was a rapid spin that sent his entire coat fanning around him as he slid closer to the ground. He then rolled onto his stomach and did a few belly rolls before lying on his side until he landed right in front of Ryou and winked.

While the crowd cheered, shock stole Ryou's voice. The combination of his pale skin and the heated blush turned his face bright pink and he covered his mouth to hide his embarrassment. He wasn't naïve; the Bishop had made sure he was well-educated in taboo subjects such as sex, alcohol, homosexuality and other such sins that resulted from temptations of the flesh. Properness of etiquette between different and the same genders, specifically, as things to avoid, had been a firm part of his education. After all, his own being was a living temptation because it caused men to think of unholy things that should only be done with woman. But Ryou also knew that even if Bakura was just flirting with the entire crowd and not just him, _he_ shouldn't be acting this way.

Before he could contemplate his sins, a strong hand seized Ryou's wrist and before he could raise his voice to protest, he found himself dragged roughly on the stage by the rouge gypsy. The wings of his costume tugged at his back, having been bent due to the crashing of the crowd pushing him against the stage, freeing a hiss of displeasure from his throat. It took all his will power not to scream when he saw his Master sitting in his throne-like booth. To make matters worse, it was directly level with the stage. Defensively, he pulled his hat tightly towards his head, double-checking to make sure not a single strand of his notorious white hair spilled out. Even his mask didn't seem enough to hide him now. He kept his hat close and his eyes on the ground letting Bakura spin him around like he was the feminine participant in a waltz. The cheers, whistles and applaud from the crowd were numbed by the voluminous pounding of Ryou's heart in his ears.

Finally, they stopped dancing and he crashed into Bakura. He almost fainted when his hat flew off and quickly replaced it while Bakura forced him to spin around and bowed lowly, taking Ryou with him. Then he rose them back up and threw his free arm across the air in a wave.

"Now," the gypsy acrobat cheered. "We have a special show for you folks, starring the Glorious Emerald and, for today only, the Angel of the Bells!"

Ryou almost fainted when Bakura gestured to him, making him the center of Paris' attention. He didn't have time to comprehend his position when he was pulled through the colorful tapestries of the tent, and could only release a voiceless scream.

The crowd erupted in cheers as green, purple, blue, and red smoke, suddenly exploded from the ground. Tent curtains around the stage opened revealing the poles and ropes set up earlier, traipse lowered themselves towards the ground, tightropes stretched from roofs like gymnastics bars, and beneath the smoke, the other performers were already setting up a capture net across the courtyard, in case of any accidents.

When thick smoke concealed them, Ryou spun around, all his panic and earlier fears replaced with aggravated rage.

"You!" the bell ringer snapped his voice dangerously low, both to keep the conversation private and to sound threatening. "What the devil did you think you were doing? You nearly gave me a heart attack with that little stunt of yours!" His rant halted Bakura's laughter. "And another thing!" The bell ringer waved an accusing finger at the taller man, his rage blinding him to his own boldness. "When did I ever agree to take part in any type of circus this evening?"

Bakura blinked the grinned merely amused by the younger man's outburst. "Well," Bakura countered by leaning forward and meeting the boy's nervous eyes. "Can you think of a better way to show off those acrobatics you bragged about, _mon Ange_?"  
*

The crowd dispersed among the colorful tents that formed the circus. No doubt all wanting to see those scandalous gypsies engages in more acts of public indecency. Marik shook his head with disgust. "This entire city is becoming the earth's hell."

He made no effort to stop his brother when the man summoned his guards towards the circus. People crowed and crashed against the stage, desperate for a better seat, while others pooled around the tents anxious for the new display the gypsies had promised. Colorful smoke kept the secret hidden. Even from his pedestal he could barely see the shapes and shadows of performers moving among the tents and smoke. Instead of protesting such debauchery, he sat and remained silent. He had no intention of watching a bunch of prostitutes strip naked while the acrobats robbed everyone in sight. He cared little for the cockroaches viewing them, either. In his mind, even the upper-class had sunk into the pitfalls of society. However, as the Bishop, he had to make sure he still maintained a flawless reputation for those who inspired to be as chaste as himself. And that included his ward.

He couldn't see Ryou Glory's costume, so he assumed the boy was back stage with the gypsies preparing for the performance. Under different circumstances he would have been furious with his ward's act of betrayal, but he'd watched that gypsy whore pluck his innocent Ryou Glory out from the crowd like a rose from its shelter of thrones and dragged him into the garden of weeds hidden behind those deceiving circus curtains. He knew his ward was too kind-hearted to see the cunning of the outcasts, and thus too timid to refuse. He was quite impressed by Ryou Glory's disguise. The Bishop had almost missed him in that outrageous costume. He'd done well disguising himself, but the Bishop had recognized him the moment the lustful, silver-haired gypsy had pulled him next to him. With their difference even more profound in front of him, the Bishop hadn't failed to recognize his ward. It had only been a second before the gypsy dragged his ward off the stage and into the shelter of the smoke, but a second was all the Bishop needed. Even _he_ never expected his little test would escalate to such a level. It was almost exactly as he planned it.

"Temptation." The Bishop found himself grinning. "The Lord _does_ work in mysterious ways." Ironic, how they were both being tested today. His Ryou Glory would be faced with the temptations of the sins of the world, and he, himself, was being tested to break his vows of chastity. He already knew he would succeed. Now he could only hope his ward did not make the same mistake twice.

* * *

With a spew of the curtains, the smoke began to clear, and once again he saw his ward and the silver-haired gypsy that embodied his own temptation. Oh yes, the Lord's tests of character did work in mysterious ways.

"You…You can't be serious?" Ryou choked, extremely grateful the clouds of smoke hadn't dispersed yet. Of course, he loved all the running and jumping he did at the church when he rang the bells and on the roof, but that was Notre Dame! That was just for fun and no one there but the Grigori saw him doing it. The very thought of doing all that in front of the entire city…suddenly Ryou felt very dizzy.

"Hey, don't pass out on me runt, I'm not catching you if you do," Bakura snapped. "And my brother'll kill me if I screw up this show, so grow a spine, and let's go."

"I can't perform in public!" Ryou protested, terrified and stuttering incoherently. "I mean, well…I…do acrobatics but at home…in private… as part of my job and-". Before he could speak another word, Bakura had grabbed his arm and spun him around so they were both dancing, then Bakura pulled Ryou back against his stomach in a waltz position. "Just shut up and dance," he whispered in the boy's ear. "It's Mardi Gras, live a little." A wicked grin played across his face. He looked past Ryou then scurried about the tents, before jumping back on the stage. "And you might want to do that soon, the show's about to start!"

"What?" Bakura was already halfway across the stage before Ryou could process what he'd said.

"Hey!" the bell ringer screamed. Blinded by fury, he leaped on to the stage after him not noticing the smoke beginning to fade, the Mages from earlier dancing on stage, donning gold and silver bells that twinkled and jingled in an orchestra of chimes as they spun and danced.

Behind them Bakura burst across the stage, laughing and looking over his shoulder to make sure Ryou was still chasing him. "You're going to have to do better than that, runt!" He mocked, leaping towards the end of the stage where the Bishop's dais was and grabbed one of the guard's spears right out of his hands. Bakura spun it around with a smirk before slamming it into the ground like a javelin, and hurling himself onto one of the lower roofs where one of the tight ropes had been set up.

Ryou skidded to a halt, mortified at how close he had come to the Bishop. Reacting on instinct, he jumped from the stage only to be caught by Bakura, who grabbed his arm and hoisted him onto a firm tightrope decorated with colorful flags. Bakura had been careful to make sure the wings of Ryou's costumes didn't snag on the rope. The rope swung unstably underneath their combined weight. While Bakura stood perfectly balanced, like it was solid ground beneath his feet, Ryou stumbled to maintain his balance. He was used to balancing on solid beams, not shaky ropes. He took a step back from Bakura, desperate to keep his feet straight and held his wobbly arms out straight to keep himself balanced.

His face went red with rage and embarrassment when Bakura's peals of laughter echoed in his ears. "I knew you were all talk," he mocked. "Just don't mess up my act." He started walking backwards on the tightrope with ease, before positioning into a back flip. His hands landed on the rope and the rest of his body followed accordingly. Below the crowd erupted in cheers. Even the Bishop was leaning forward in his seat to watch.

Ryou's gloved hands clenched at his sides. "Fine!" He started swinging his hips from left to right, making the rope jiggle. Bakura started losing his balance and forced himself to stay straight.

"What the hell are a you-" The gypsy snapped, furiously until he caught the uncharacteristic smirk on Ryou's face.

"You want to see what I can do? Fine, I'll show you." Accepting the challenge, Ryou started shaking his hips, the rope followed. When it gathered enough momentum, Ryou leaped through the air and caught the trapeze with both hands and swung himself upward so he landed in a crouch position on the thin trapeze bar. His wings gave him the impression of flying. He flashed a boastful smile Bakura's way. "Catch me if you can, Bakura!"

Ryou swung the trapeze back and forth like a standing swing, then leaped onto the next one with the same skill. This time, however, he swung his body like a pendulum then propelled himself onto a nearby rope and swung in a circle. Below, the crowd cheered at his performance. Ryou finished by letting go of the rope and grabbing onto the tightrope with one hand, then carefully hoisted himself back up, and spread his arms wide to keep stable. Carefully, he walked backwards until he reached another roof, and leaped onto it. For his finale, he turned to the crowd and gave a wide bow, carefully holding his hat to keep it from falling off. The crowd erupted in cheers.

"Not bad, runt!" Ryou shot up and found his companion standing on one of the trapeze, swinging himself back and forth as he had done earlier. "But can you do this?" Bakura flashed a triumphant smirk before taking a step backwards off the trapeze, with no sign of panic. He caught the trapeze with one hand then used the other to swing up his weight, until he was hanging from the trapeze by his knees. He swung his body striking different poses as he did so, then released his hold, and swung to a loose rope that he climbed up with ease. When he reached the top, he climbed on top of the wood beam. Down below, he double-checked to make sure the crowd's eyes were all on him. All of them gasped with eyes wide with astonishment and suspense. Even the Bishop had risen from his seat, because the shade of his dais' curtains obstructed his view. The Captain of the Guards and his men were all standing on the stage trying to get the best look of the beautiful gypsy.

With a boastful swagger, Bakura ran across the beam, when he was halfway across it, he elegantly jumped from it and grabbed a rope. Swinging in a half circle until he came to a low roof, he let go and spun into a front flip landing feet first then fell to his knees. He sprinted across the roof, making sure to give Ryou a wink as he rushed past. He front flipped onto a lower roof, bolted across that, then grabbed another rope that swung by. When he was just above the stage he let go and front flipped the entire way down landing feet-first on the stage. The crowd exploded in cheers and began littering the stage with golden coins.

Above him, Ryou gave him an impressed smile, before stepping onto the tightrope. Taking a breath and spreading his arms, Ryou jumped down grabbing the rope and started climbing across it like a monkey across tree branches. When he reached the middle, he clenched the rope with both gloved hands and swung his body forward until he could swing his body back far enough to do a hand stand on the rope. When gravity pulled his body back down, he let go swinging towards and grabbing a lower tightrope. With the rope securely between his fingers, Ryou turned around and climbed on top of it so he was facing one of the hanging ropes. He jumped from the tightrope and onto the rope, swung it in a half circle as Bakura did, only this time he swung across the stage and didn't let go until he would land on the end of the stage. He dropped like a stone, landing carefully, then raced across the stage.

The colors of the tents and flags distorted past him like flashing lights, the gasps of the crowd vanished among the wind rushing in his ears and the excitement of his heart pounding in his ears as he made a sharp turn with ease: it was like nothing he ever felt before. He jumped forward and did a series of front flips before landing next to Bakura, with his arms spread towards the heavens.

The crows burst into cheers, gold and silver coins scattered across the floor like autumn leaves. The gypsies all lined upon the stage and bowed. "Thanks for coming folks!" Bakura raised his arms before three spheres appeared from nowhere between his fingers and he threw them against the ground. Clouds of smokes erupted and everyone vanished.

The cheers of the crowd were mere echoes by the time the two boys had slipped from the stage and into the colorful tents. Knowing Ryou couldn't see through the thick smoke, Bakura had grabbed his hand and dragged him away from the colorful haze. When they were safely hidden in the tent Ryou recognized as the one Bakura had been changing in when they first met, he exhaled a sharp breath and plopped down on a heavy trunk in the corner. "My goodness," he panted, carefully covering his heart. "That was more excitement than I ever want to have again."

Bakura snickered, closing the curtains behind him and sneaking over towards another open trunk that had simple clothes spilling out of it, and started removing his heavy costume as he did so. "I'll admit it, kid. That was an impressive show." He grabbed a wide-sleeved burgundy coat, a pair of simple blue pants and a white shirt and vanished behind another curtain. "That was more fun than I've had in ages." The gypsy laughed. "And did you see the money those lunatics were throwing? We're going to make a killing off this show!"

Ryou stiffened at that. His master's words coming back to him hauntingly clear. "You can't tell me all you care about is money!"

"Oh?" The silver-haired gypsy poked his head out from behind the curtain. Ryou vaguely noticed the heavy emerald hanging from his neck: the color identical to Bakura's eye color. "And why, pray tell, would you believe that?" He vanished back behind the curtain, the sounds of clothe being thrown about, and hitting skin followed.

"Because of the way you perform," Ryou replied, closing his eyes contently. "The way you dance, the way you performed those tricks, yes, there was a clear desire for attention in your actions, but it was more to it than that. You enjoyed performing those tricks, and you do so with such energy and passion…it looks like you're flying. When you dance…that's the only time you truly feel free. When you don't feel constricted by society or feel as though you have to hide. You're truly free to be yourself."

If Ryou could see Bakura, he would've seen the man had stopped moving as he listened. A small frown formed on his lips but he made no indication that he was listening, least not to Ryou.

"And how exactly would you know that?" Bakura snorted, keeping up a casual tone.

"Because that's the same way I feel when I ring the bells of Notre Dame each morning." Ryou admitted. "It's the only time I don't feel overwhelmed by the sins of the world… including my own."

"Sin?" Bakura threw the curtains aside, fully dressed. "I thought you said you weren't a priest or something."

"I'm not," Ryou corrected. "But it doesn't mean I don't accept what I am. I am a living temptation. If you saw my face behind this mask even you would be consumed by desire."

"Consumed by what?" Bakura rose a skeptical eyebrow, leaning forward to grab the front of Ryou's mask but the boy swatted his hands away, keeping his face and hair as concealed as possible. "Look kid, don't flatter yourself. I've seen the way people look at me, but I don't go around covering every inch of my body. If those lecherous bastards want some of this," he gestured to himself with his hand. "Well it's their damned souls, not mine. I just make the best of it."

"What in heaven's name do you mean by that?" Ryou gaped, flabbergasted.

"You're right, I do dance because I love it, but that's not the only reason," Bakura explained swaggering across the room like he was still on stage. "Do you know what I love the most?" He looked over his shoulder with a wicked smile and cynical eyes that reminded Ryou disturbingly of his Master. "I love seeing those lecherous bastards reduced to drooling dogs and shown for the scum they truly are. They take one look at me and they're seduced and they waste no time digging into their pockets and throwing whatever they've got at my feet to make me happy, and all I have to do is walk across the stage or shake my hips, and I love it. They can pretend to be all righteous and grand all they wish, but when they see me dance, their true faces come out and they are no different from the outcasts they have the audacity to criticize. And best if all, all of their precious money is what puts food on my family's table."

Ryou snorted and looked at the ground. "You sound like my Master. He doesn't believe people are incapable of change, either."

Bakura whirled around. "I'm only stating facts! That's what people think! I accept it. I'm not going on about how I'm an embodiment of sin."

"I never said that!" Ryou jumped to his feet standing as tall as he could to try and match Bakura's height. "And since we're on the subject, you're right, the world is full of sin. It's one of the reasons I choose not to leave the church, but that doesn't mean I assume everyone in the world is a lecher who wants to bed me!" he snapped.

Bakura's eyes lit with fury and he ceased Ryou by the collar of his shirt and hoisted him to his eye level. "Are you calling me a whore?"

"No," Ryou glared throwing his hands up to pry the older man off him. Despite Bakura's greater strength, he did so. "I _think_, however, that you're obnoxious, very crude and far too cynical to for own good!"

"I'm cynical?" Bakura's eyes flashed with anger and disbelief at the insult. "I'm not some hermit locking myself away in a tower because I think the world is evil! Seriously could you be more depressing? The world's not all grim and misery you know!"

"These words of comfort coming from a man who not a moment ago told me every man in the world is a lecherous fool who wastes money on debauchery!" Ryou protested fiercely.

"No," Bakura dragged out the word with a twitch of the eye. "I said that's what my _customers_ were like." Bakura corrected waving an angry forefinger. "I happen to know a lot of people that are anything but that, most of which are people I live with."

"Then why did you not mention this when I said that I didn't believe everyone in the world was evil?" Ryou snapped back.

Frustrated and confused, Bakura screeched and grabbed his hair. "What are we arguing about now?"

"We were arguing about how you are cynical and I am depressing," Ryou answered with accuracy.

"Alright, will you stop talking so formally? You sound like a maidservant." Bakura shook his head. "Is there any particular time you have to be home? You said you live in the church right?"

Ryou nodded. "I must be back before sundown. That is usually when my Master returns."

"Fine, how about a deal," Bakura proposed. "If I can show you not to be depressed, you can show me not to be cynical. Deal?"

Ryou raised an eyebrow. "You mean if I can show you something to make your view of the world less cynical, in response, you shall show me something to make my view of the world less 'depressing' as you call it?"

Bakura looked like he wanted to collapse. "Not in so many words, but yes that is the gist of it. I _did_ promise you a tour of the festival after the show, didn't I?"

Ryou pondered the idea. It would be nice to see the rest of the festival before it ended and he had to wait another year. And it was safer to travel with an escort, and much more enjoyable with company. And it would be several more hours until he had to return. "Alright," he agreed. "When do we leave?"

Bakura smirked and opened the exit curtain. "Right now, so move it."

* * *

Immediately after the show, the crowd dispersed. The upper classes returned to their homes, the peasants and lower classes returned to their shops, and the gypsies retreated to the shelter of their circus setting. Thought it was late evening and the Mari Gras had far from ended, people retreated to their own social circles for continual celebration. Clothing and status once again separated society. Though everyone dressed in colorful and lavish fashions, the textures and jewels distinguished the wealthier, higher-class men and nobles from the cheap, ragged wear of the beggars, bland colors of the peasants and scrapped, mix-matched collections worn by the gypsies.

And yet the courtyard in front of the church bustled with life and shops; different colored flags and painted banners still streamed the air like a giant colorful web connecting the rooftops. Shops created from traveling brightly painted caravans were still open: filled with baskets of fruits and vegetables, jugs of fresh water, rich wines, sweet juices and sour spiced punch. Children helped their parents by carrying baskets and crates or decorating the stands with flowers to make them stand out more. None of these people were wealthy.

Beggars in rags and brown cloaks gathered before the church and genuflected before the church begging for sanctuary and folded their hands in prayer. Some sat in corners, wrapped in their cloaks with only a small hat held out for gathering coins. People pretended not to see them but some charitable souls dropped coins in them as they passed.

Little boys covered in dirty, raggedy shirts and pants rushed out holding trays of food for shoppers to try. Young girls wearing only puffy sleeved dresses and short skirts that exposed their shaking knees and dirty arms handed out flowers and wreaths. In the courtyard, other children and parents went to the church and dropped donations in the baskets, before running to the courtyard to dance or play music. Most of the children wore no shoes. Even some of the adults had bare feet. Those that had the luxury of shoes wore old leather boots with ripped laces, worn soles or had holes all over them. Some wore cloth-like slippers that would do little to keep out the cold. Barely any of them had coats aside from the ones worn with their costumes. Those in costume wore old clothing with faded colors with many holes. Some were speckled with patches while others had the holes sewed up leaving a seam like multiple scars. The thick materials had been worn out from many years of use and yet they somehow still provided warmth.

And yet none of them seemed unhappy. There was true joy on their faces as the children played, the shoppers sold their products, and the beggars smiled each time they received charity. They seemed much happier than half the people who came to Notre Dame for mass.

When Bakura promised Ryou he'd show him that the world is not only a place of sin and suffering, he never expected this.

"See runt," Bakura snickered at Ryou's jaw-dropped face. "These are the beggars and outcasts those damned guards and Bishop despise so much. These are the people I live with outside the gypsies." The proud silver-haired gypsy strutted about and closed the gaped boy's mouth.

Ryou's eyes were wide with amazement, and bulging larger and larger with every image that past his way. He took small steps, slowly looking from direction to the other. Bakura rolled his eyes unsure whether to snicker or pity the boy. "My God, you weren't kidding about the sheltered life of yours, were you?"

"No, I wasn't," Ryou breathed. He'd watched the festival many times before but he, like everyone else, had retreated once the highlight of the day was over, leaving the nobles and vagabonds to return to their lives while he returned to his own of tending the tower. Even then he barely gave the people he saw beneath the walls of his tower as anything other than what his first glance told him. Had he really been oblivious to such joy for life, such beauty? When he himself had wanted so much to believe the Grigoris had been telling the truth when they told him there was more good in the world than bad? Had it really been there under his nose, quite literally, this whole time?

"You see, runt," Bakura leaned on Ryou's stiff shoulder. "Mardi Gras may only be once a year, but for us, life is like this every day. In our world, among the outcasts we have no race, religion, class, or skin color. It doesn't matter where we come from or what we've done in the past, all that matters is that we want a second chance. Here, we're all outcasts, thus this is the closest you'll ever get to equality." He swaggered around Ryou. "The upper-class only hates us 'cause we are, for lack of a better word, outcasts. They see us as a blight on their supposed utopia 'cause we're proof that it's not."

"I've been guilty of that," Ryou frowned.

"Eh, we all have," Bakura shrugged. "So have I convinced you not to—hey!"

Before Bakura could finish his sentence Ryou had already run off and was examining each caravan and stand like a child in a toy shop scrutinizing each object. The people happily answered his questions and some even offered to let him try the foods they sold. He offered them money in exchange but they refused. When he was done with one, he moved on to the other before Bakura could catch him. The boy was like a rat in a maze, darting from place to place and Bakura could barely keep up.

Ryou stopped when he spotted a fiddler playing a song and rushed over only to screech when he stumbled into a flock of geese that took to air in fright. He flopped back into a man carrying a crate of apples, spilling them. Immediately, Ryou apologized and started gathering them up, but when he turned to return them the man was gone, and people started stealing them from his very arms.

Suddenly, being surrounded by so many different people and not used to such a social setting, Ryou dropped all of them and stumbled back only for two strong arms to catch him. He started hyperventilating.

"You don't do well in social circles do you?" Ryou jumped and whirled around seeing that Bakura was keeping him from falling. "Guess you weren't kidding about that isolation thing?"

"No, I wasn't," Ryou blushed with a frown.

Bakura rolled his eyes and shoved the hat over Ryou's eyes. "You're lucky you're cute, kid. You'd be so helpless without me."

Ryou snorted. "You are so arrogant."

"That's a bad thing?" Bakura teased.

"It's a sin." Ryou snapped.

Bakura groaned. "What did we just get done discussing?"

Ryou opened his mouth, but was stunned to silence by the sound of a fiddle, flute, and other instruments playing in the square. An idea popped into Ryou's mind. "I promised to make you less cynical." Ryou turned to him with a bright smile that was met with a bewildered look from Bakura. "And I know how!" He grabbed the man's hand and dragged him towards the square and started spinning and dancing to the tune of the music. "Come on!" Ryou gestured for him to join him, as he grabbed multiple people to join in the dance.

"I don't dance," Bakura crossed his arms stubbornly and leaned against a caravan, but Ryou's determination was fierce and he grabbed the man by his arms and dragged him onto the courtyard and started dancing. "You dance all the time! Have you ever done it just for fun?"

"No," Bakura said harshly.

"Then let's start now!" Ryou started spinning, taking Bakura with him, while everyone around them clapped their hands in time with the beat of the music. Soon, other men and women and children joined them. Feet flew across the cobblestone steps. Bare feet and old shoes tapped like an orchestra in tune with their clapping hands. The people changed partners and Bakura and Ryou changed partners, Bakura looked at Ryou with a growl but Ryou just smiled and turned to dance with a little girl before spinning in the center of the chaos.

Bakura managed to weave away and watch him. His eyes blinked in surprise, and slight jealousy, as he watched…Ange. The boy moved so freely and so fluidly, like someone without a single care in the world. The boy was like a child who been outside for the first time: innocent and naïve and fascinated with anything he saw, and the way he danced was without any fear or self-consciousness. At one point he saw the boy slip and fall on his bottom, but he just shook his head and laughed and got right back up and did it again. Bakura would've been humiliated if that were him.

Bakura bit back a pout. He would not be jealous of a child. Especially one he didn't technically know the name of. "Come on, Bakura, dance!' Ryou called in a cheerful voice. His eyes were closed and his smile was bright with sweetness and childish wonder. Bakura felt his cheeks flame for some odd reason, and finally he conceded. The boy's squeal of delight was his reward. Ironically, he found it kind of cute.

And he had to admit, it was fun to just dance. Spin in circles like a child playing tag. Not wondering what move would make the most money, not having all those leering eyes on him. He watched Ryou spin with his arms spread, like he was flying, his wings and coat spinning about him as he laughed. The sound was like a sweet chime in Bakura's ears. Despite himself, he found himself grinning whenever Ryou's smile flashed his way. The boy had a magnetic personality. That had to be it. It was odd for someone so sheltered, but then again maybe that was part of the charm. All he knew was that he'd give anything to just keep dancing like this watching Ryou laugh and smile and feel like the world was perfect and nothing bad could ever happen to them.

Out of the corner of his eyes he caught the Bishop bulldozing through the crowd with the guards at his side, barking orders. Bakura cursed under his breath and whistled a code. Immediately, the store owners burst in front of the guards and bishop boasting their products. The Bishop declined each offer with a look of aversion but from what Bakura could see, it didn't stop him. Soon the guards began shoving people aside as the Bishop stormed towards the crowd.

Bakura whistled again and soon everyone started dancing and exchanging partners. His years of dancing paid off as he danced his way through the crowd, weaving between each person. He grabbed two cupcakes from a stand that sold such treats. Finally, he made it to Ryou and swooped around him, placing one cupcake in his hand and grabbed the other in a waltz position.

The boy was confused but danced along anyway careful not to lose his treat. Bakura turned to the musicians and winked, before gesturing his head towards the guards who were trying and failing to break up the festivities. Carefully, he stepped out of the center, taking Ryou with him. The dancers started to scatter, all moving in different directions, cutting off the guards before slipping into the cracks and alleyways about the cities. Bakura took Ryou's hand and slipped them around the church before gesturing for Ryou to run.

"Time to go," he winked, taking Ryou's hand gently, "Follow me."

Ryou did so, vaguely noticing a tiny flash of green as they rushed away. Soon, he found himself slipping through the nooks and crannies of a nearby alley. In the past, Ryou had stayed far away from alleys, hearing rumors of them being prime places for sinners and vagabonds and thus some of the most dangerous places in the city. Yet the ones Bakura took him to had an aura of safety. They were between houses or apartment buildings. They were by no means clean, but not as filthy or dark as he imagined either.

Bakura slipped into a crevice in the wall, and placed Ryou in front of him. He moved his finger to his lips. Ryou giggled with giddiness, until he saw the guards run by. Feeling like a child escaping its nanny, he covered his mouth to keep from giggling.

Bakura turned to him with a smirk before holding up the cupcake from earlier. He raised an eyebrow and smirked, holding it up. Understanding what he meant, Ryou laughed and they tapped the cupcakes together like wineglasses before devouring them.

* * *

"This was the best day of my life!" Ryou cheered as he and Bakura turned the corner. Bakura had volunteered to walk him back to the church since they'd run a fair distance from the courtyard. Bakura watched the boy swoon and laugh as he talked about his day, with a smile on his face.

"I'll admit it, I haven't enjoyed a festival this much in years," Bakura agreed with a humorous laugh.

"And thank you, by the way," Ryou smiled with a bowed head.

"I beg your pardon?" Bakura asked bewildered, just as the approached the back entrance to the church.

"You were right about me. I spent so much time 'watching' the lives of others and assuming what people were like simply because that's what I was told. You see, when I was young I believed there was still good in the world, I never stopped, but at the same time, I'd seen how some souls are beyond salvation and that scared me." The boy started shaking, his voice fading into a whisper.

Bakura's eyes widened. "Well, I can't deny that. Some people in this world are pretty bad." Bakura walked around to Ryou's side and tried pathetically to soothe him. "I mean I've seen some pretty bad stuff, myself. But you know, that doesn't mean there isn't still some good in the world." He explained giving him the same speech his sister told him.

To his relief, Ryou smiled then laughed. "You know that's my guardians told me as well, I guess I just needed proof to really believe it. So thank you!" Ryou smiled and wiped his eyes. "This was the best day of my life."

"You know something, kid?" Bakura smiled. "It was mine too."

Ryou nodded. "I'm grateful." The boy turned around and undid the lock on the door and moved to enter but before he could he, he felt a firm hand grasp his shoulder.

"Ryou," Bakura said quickly, his eyes down cast and his face shaking like he was nervous.

Ryou blinked and turned around to face him. "Yes?"

"Come with me." Bakura blurted out.

Ryou couldn't breathe. "What?"

"Come with me and my family to the Court of Miracles."

* * *

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! How many of you thought something bad was going to happen to Ryou? Seriously, i got such a kick out of that! Didn't i warn you all not to take the movie adaption into consideration when I wrote this? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Bet none of you saw that coming!

Originally, all this was going to be in the last chapter but am very happy I decided to split it since I got so much accomplished with this chapter in such a small amount of space. Seriously, i was convinced this chapter would be like 20 pages and it turned out to be only 12! The parts I am most proud of are Marik contemplating his lust and the dance and acrobatic scenes Ryou and Bakura did. I watched the original dance scenes Esmeralda did in the film at least 20 times, and Bakura's tricks were actually loosely based off the ones Captain Amelia did in Treasure Planet. I tried to make them as detailed and visual as I could and personally i'm pleased with them both. It was SO much fun trying to have Ryou and Bakura out do one another.

I'm also very proud of Marik in this chapter. In the original and almost every adaption of the story, Frollo viewed his lust for Esmeralda as a test from God, so I wanted to show the same thing with Marik but let me tell you it was NOT easy. Seriously, you try and write a guy who abhors sex, sees himself as incredibly virtuous and has never in his life felt any type of lust or temptation and get into HIS head and show how its OBVIOUS he's in lust with someone but he doesn't see it...it is NOT easy. So i was personally proud of how that came out.

My biggest concern with this chapter was the conversations between Ryou and Bakura: I had to re-read this entire fic myself to make sure their characters, actions and personalities fitted the ones they'd adapted in the story. As you all know i am PASSIONATE about in-characterization and its super-hard to do tendershipping, especially because of Bakura, so even though both of them lives slightly different lives in this one, i still felt they were similar enough that they shared SOME traits with their original counterparts: Ryou's still timid and submissive but still strong and has a backbone (he stood up to Bakura) and Bakura, while not a psychopath driven by revenge, is still cynical and likes to cause trouble purely for the sake of it. So hopefully, i managed to keep that consistency but also while I didn't want this to be the start of any such romance for them, i DID want it to be the start of a friendship. They both got issues to work out of course, and this is the middle ages, and with Ryou's strict upbringing and Bakura's loose one, the issue of homosexuality is gonna be a heated debate in this story (hopefully to replace the tragedy of society Hugo creates in the original relationship with Esmeralda and Quasi where Esmeralda was 16 and though she did eventually form a friendship with Quasi she was terrified of him and love phoebus even though he betrayed her, only wanted to sleep with her and in the musical coldly turned her over towards the guards-I loved her older, more mature Disney counterpart better for that reason but I given Esmeralda's naivety and young age in the original I have little doubt she would've eventually realized Phoebus was an ass, but point is even though Quasi is the nicest guy just like in the Disney version he gets screwed because of his appearance-so sad, I always cry when i see that movie, probably the whole reason Disney made a sequel movie) but anyway I'm rambling sorry-basically Ryou and Bakura are gonna experience a LOT of culture shocks in this, starting with the end of this chapter-and yes it was inspired from Tangled (the cupcake scene was too cute to pass up) ;)

Anyway, to all of you who not only put up with my atrocious updating but my boring notes-God Bless you! and to those of you who aren't religious, Thank you! Thank you all for not giving up on my second most popular fic!

ALSO! PLEASE READ: I have a poll on my profile for a Robin HoodxYugioh crossover I got inspired to do (same as my other stuff it is based on all adaptions and variations-and you all know that's a lot for Robin Hood) but i'm having trouble choosing a setting so if you could all do that that would be AWESOME! thank you so much!


	8. Decisions

If you've been keeping up with my profile you all know RL has been pure hell so my goal of updating this regularly in February fell through the way side, for those of you who haven't, long boring story short: the combination of work, collage and getting into grad school was murder, and on top of all my projects: my annotated bibliography, three papers, two presentations, my 25-page bibliography, filling out paperwork for graduation i literally had NO time, and any time i did i spent with my friends who i wouldn't get to see much after graduation...

so aside from my spordic reviews: I AM BACK BABY! I got this baby banged out in a few days and my goal is to update FK by next week!

And for all my fans of this story since the wait was like 5 months (I'm so sorry) i made this an extra long chapter for all of you ^-^

Dedications: To Shana-chan, my newest friends who i adore, who betaed this chapter, since my other beta is WAY too busy, I love you girl! And of course to all my loyal fans and friends who've stuck by me despite my poor update record. I love you all!

Disclaimer: Yugioh and all its characters belong to Kazuki Takehashi, my hero and idol, the plot for this movie is of my own adaption based on Viktor Hugo's classic The hunchback of Notre Dame, the musical adaption, and the beloved Disney movie.

As always, read, review, critique, comment, flame if you must but there better be a reason or i will NOT be this polite.

* * *

_Chapter Eight: Decisions_

Malik was stunned his brother hadn't gone mute from all his screaming. The gypsies and vagabonds had wisely fled once the guards started approaching the square. All but the shop keepers, who were already packing up their caravans, remained, leaving the scraps and litter from food and drinks and the remaining decorations that needed to be taken down. Other than that the cobblestone square in front of the church was a vacant as it was every other day of the year.

Malik scowled watching the sun set. An entire Mardi Gras had been wasted.

"Marik!" he called the Bishop who turned his angry scowl toward him. "The courtyard is cleared. My guards are awaiting your orders."

Marik said nothing. His eyes flashed with anger and his black-gloved fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. He turned away from his brother and stomped deeper into the courtyard where he'd witnessed the gypsy whore attempting to seduce his Glory. When he couldn't find the boy after the performance ended, he assumed the boy had rejected the temptations of the gypsies and returned to the church. To his horror, he'd found the boy dancing like a gypsy in the center of a crowd of filthy peasants and corrupted vagabonds. He knew it was unfair to blame Ryou Glory, the boy was too innocent. But to his fury, the gypsy had spirited away his unsuspecting ward before Marik could rescue him and let his ward know he'd forgiven him for his betrayal.

He barely heard his brother's voice calling his name through the anger of his heart pounding in his ears. Just as he turned to leave a glint of green caught his eyes. Following the bright light, his gaze widened with shock when they discovered the source of the glow: a large emerald the size of a walnut on a silver chain.

He bent down carefully, so not to damage his robes, and picked up the lovely object and dangled it from between his fingers. The silver chain coiled about them, allowing the emerald to slip free and glisten in the light. The object was stunning, and the color identical to the silver gypsy boy's eyes, Marik recalled and bit back a growl of disgust when the memory of the boy made him shiver.

But then he paused to think. Why had such a beautiful gift appeared here? Now, where his ward had been…A gasp of realization tore itself from his throat. Was this a sign from the Lord? Was He telling him not to lose faith? To not give up on his young ward just yet? After all, he hadn't checked the church? Ryou could've still returned. After all, the circus was simply doing what Ryou did every day; the bishop had seen him when he performed his daily tasks of ringing the bell towers. There was no sin against enjoying one's work? In fact the Lord encouraged it, did He not?

Maybe…just maybe…what he saw _was_ Ryou Glory's _true_ test? That this was his _true_ brush with temptation, something that he had to overcome? A hopeful smile graced his lips and he said a silent prayer of thanks to the good Lord for reminding him to be faithful. He pocketed the emerald and turned to his brother.

* * *

Time had frozen the instant the request left the gypsy boy's mouth. The weight of the declaration crashed up against Ryou's practical thinking, making him momentarily forget to breathe. The air became too still and the cacophony of the Mardi Gras crowd immediately silenced. The pounding of his heart and the roar of silence deafened all other noise.

His blank mind could hardly utter a thought, let alone an opinion. The rational logic of his practical side warred bitterly with the new adventurous side that had always remained dormant with him and only seemed to surface right when he needed it most. Rationality spoke the obvious choice, but his heart and spirit roared with such a cheer that Ryou wanted more than anything to agree with.

The weightlessness he'd felt that day, that he only ever felt when ringing his beloved bells every morning. The freedom to perform whenever he wished, to move his body through suspended air as effortlessly as a fish swam through water; the freedom he'd enjoyed dancing that day, so liberally and effortlessly. It was like he had not a care in the world and no worry for his immortal soul. The rush he'd felt escaping the guards and coercing with normal people in a way he'd never done in all his years at the church, even when he'd helped his master and the sisters with services. He could understand why the gypsies treasured their wild, nomadic lifestyle. He'd give anything to experience that again. The good and the bad; he'd accept the sufferings such a life promised and all the hardships it was married to if it meant he could experience what he'd experienced that single day once again.

And the gypsy boy himself had been wonderful company. He'd made a promise to show Bakura the beauties of the world and how to be less cynical, but in the end it was he who'd been given the time of his life. He couldn't deny the spark he'd felt when Bakura challenged him or the triumph he'd felt whenever he'd defeated him, in dance or acrobatics. It was wonderful having someone who not only shared his talents but could challenge him as well. And Bakura _was_ pleasant to talk to. Despite his bleak outlook on life there was a spark in the man's spirit. One that shined when he performed, Ryou had seen proof of that.

Saying yes would be so easy. He wouldn't even need to think about it.

So then why was he?

He looked heavenward hoping for assistance to his dilemma, but none came. Only the soft cooing of the birds Atem loved to scream as they escaped the tower that housed his precious bells. The bells that sang him to sleep as a child and who he woke every morning and made him smile with their pretty sounds. The Bells he loved. Emmanuel, who was his own precious secret, that shook the tower whenever the enormous bourdon was rung, and the bells that rang consistently every morning to greet the dawn as the sun crested over the horizon. The Three Maries who had given him happiness; who had taught him how to cry and how to laugh. Little Marie rang for children's funerals to comfort the heavy hearts of the living. Big Marie announced the ships sailing from the harbor, igniting the excitement of the town while reminding the sailors to come home. And then there was Great Marie, the grandest of all, who was rung on weddings, a time of hope and happiness and new beginnings. He'd never forget each time one was rung and how the Grigori explained them and their purpose to him as a young boy, for the Maries were the bells the Grigori loved most of all.

The Grigori. Could he really leave them without saying goodbye? They had been so proud of his independence and courage when he decided to join the festival, and as he spoke he knew they'd be loyally waiting to hear all about the time he'd spend. Even if he did say goodbye, what would they do if he never came back? Could he really look into Yugi's devastated face, at Atem's broken fury, or Yami's bewildered shock and leave for a life of complete uncertainty? No matter how gracious the gypsies had been or how kind Bakura was he had only just met them. Could he really trust a perfect stranger that much? It was not like the Grigori who provided him with security and love and who he trusted because he was simply too young to know what trust was. Even if he did trust Bakura, even he couldn't promise Ryou the future. The Bishop had taught him of fate, he knew no promise or preparation could secure the future. Would he really be worth it? Abandoning the family he loved and who loved him, who he may never see again, for a life of freedom and uncertainty that would always promise struggle and no security. When would he next see the church? Or Paris? Would the Bishop even allow this?

Yes. Ryou decided. He would, simply because he was a good man, but there would be no hiding the disappointment if he ever saw Ryou again. The Bishop would be devastated if he left and Ryou knew it. Perhaps the man was not the ideal guardian, but he loved Ryou as much as a man of the cloth could. Never had he neglected the boy if he could avoid it. Never had he let his duty to God and the church prevent him from caring for the boy as if he were his own. Even when his duty to the church called him away, he always left strict instructions for the nuns and archdeacon to see to his care. It was coincidence that the Grigori were there first.

The Bishop trusted and raised him. The Grigori were his true family, taught him the value of life and freewill as God's greatest gift and never failed to remind him that he was loved. And the beautiful church that _was _home.

Ryou bowed his head with a small, sad smile. A single tear slid from his cheek. "I can't."

"You can't?" Bakura repeated, testing the words on his tongue. He blinked for a moment, hoping the action would clear his mind and make sense of what he'd heard. It didn't. "I don't understand?"

It was true. He hadn't understood why he'd asked in the first place, he only knew that if he didn't he'd regret it.

"Not because I don't want to," Ryou continued his voice soft with comfort. Only when he raised his smiling face did Bakura see the pretty tears running down his face, but they did little to mar his serene smile. "I'd love to travel with you and the gypsies and see the world, to perform and be free. I just can't yet." Ryou wiped his tears away and met the gypsy's confusion with kind, dry eyes. "I have people here who I love very much, and they'd be devastated if I left. As much as I want to live my own life some day, I'm just not ready to leave them yet. I'm sorry Bakura."

The declaration was simple but sensitive. The caution in the tone made it clear Ryou sought to guard Bakura's feelings rather than his own. Despite the initial anger and disappointment at the rejection, Bakura couldn't bring himself to truly be angry with the boy. Not when he was trying so hard to be sweet purely for his sake, and at heart, he knew this was the reaction he'd expected. After all could he leave the gypsies if given the same choice? _No_, He decided. He couldn't.

"Don't apologize for your decision," Bakura said, "It makes it sound like you're choosing the lesser of two evils." He flashed the boy a cocky grin. "If that's your decision who am I to tell you what to do. Besides," he pushed himself off the church wall, and winked. "No one can blame you for choosing your family," he looked like he was about to leave. Ryou opened his mouth to stop him, but Bakura straightened his back and raised a hand, "But," he whirled around and removed a strange necklace on a rope from his pocket. It was simple and oval shaped and woven like a dream catcher with a white cross in the center surrounded by a blue oval and dotted with several other colorful shapes.

He took Ryou's hand, dropped the necklace inside and curled his fingers over it. "If you ever change your mind, that'll help you find us."

"It's lovely," Ryou complimented, running his fingers admiringly over the craftsmanship, "Is is like a badge of some sort?" Ryou asked slipped it over his neck.

Bakura shook his head. "It's a trick my brother taught me. He said all you need to know is that 'when you hold this sacred band you hold the city in your hand' and it will help you to find the Court of Miracles."

Ryou didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so he did both. Even when Bakura yelled at him to stop blubbering he just kept laughing until the gypsy became so frustrated that he gave up and laughed as well, until they sat on the ground at the base of the church like tired children.

"Thank you, Bakura," Ryou smiled, when he finally calmed down.

"Uh, you're welcome," he said unsure how else to answer, but threw a hearty chuckle in.

"You should head back," Ryou shook his head and offered the gypsy a hand. He gestured towards the setting sun. "It'll be dark soon."

"Good advice," Bakura snorted. "Lord knows my brothers panic whenever I'm not home." The gypsy chuckled and started down the road.

He waved over his shoulder and turned to the gypsy. "I had fun today, kid."

"I did too," Ryou called back watching him leave.

Bakura smiled then paused and whirled around. "Wait a minute, what's-" the gypsy gaped staring at the spot where the Angel of Notre Dame had been standing not a second ago, but was now vacant.

"What is it?" a voice called from nowhere.

Confused Bakura's vision darted from side to side and all around but found nothing.

"Bakura?"

The gypsy followed the voice. His jaw nearly dropped when he finally found the mysterious boy…hanging from one of the saint statues that circumnavigated the first layer of Notre Dame.

"How did…" Bakura raised a finger; his eyes glued to the sight as if looking away would confirm it was real.

Ryou blinked at him, then swung upwards, grabbing the lower balcony and back-flipped so he landed on the other side. "Are you alright?" Ryou asked.

Bakura shook his head, "Fine!" he grumbled and controlled himself until he lost his train of thought again. "So…" he crossed his arms behind his back. "Do I get to know your name now?" He said with a coy grin.

Ryou laughed. "It's Ryou." The angel answered without hesitation. "My name is Ryou."

"Ryou." Bakura pondered the name, before waving over his shoulder. "Goodbye Ryou?"

The boy smiled, watching the gypsy until his red clothing vanished into the chaos of Paris. "Goodbye Bakura." Ryou smiled with a dreamy expression that made him feel odd, before turning back towards the stone pillars and once more began to climb.

He couldn't wait to tell the Grigori about this.

* * *

The circus tent and stage had nearly been taken down by the time Bakura had arrived. Attending to his usual job, he gripped a low-hanging gutter and hoisted himself onto a shallow roof and proceeded to undo the flag wires and tightrope knots. To the shock of his family, he did without complaint. No bragging about his performance, no arrogant swagger as he strutted from roof to roof, no snappy comments or playful banter. Just a silent, flawless movement used only when they man was in deep thought.

"What's gotten into you?" Mana asked, with her hands on her hips when the man jumped down.

"Nothing," Bakura grumbled strutting past her.

It wasn't a lie. _He _didn't even know what was wrong. After the fun day he had what on Earth could make him feel so…so…he didn't even know the right word. Sad sounded too feminine, depressed sounded too strong, angry was only half right and didn't really fit. Was he, dare he say it, upset? Surely the boy's rejection hadn't wounded his pride that much? It wasn't even like he was rejecting _him_, he'd just chose to stay with his family, who would probably otherwise be hurt if he left them so suddenly and with no explanation. He certainly couldn't blame the boy for that? Chaos would kill him if he'd done the same thing, right after Mahado and Mana beat him within an inch of his life. In that sense, his pride wasn't even really scratched so what the hell was wrong with him?

In his frustration, Bakura wrenched his hair, shook his head and released a growl that morphed into an exasperated scream. "Dammit, what is wrong with me?" he commanded the sky, desperate for an answer. His only response was the befuddled and slightly amused faces of his family.

Bakura clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, his gritted teeth formed an angry mutation of a hiss and a growl, and his eyes narrowed, fiercely: all of these were failed attempts to force down the embarrassingly red color that burned across his face.

"I need to think." He turned on his heels and stormed back towards the courtyard.

Mana and Mahado both blinked and exchanged glances. "What was that about?" Mahado inquired.

Mana just shrugged.

A playful smirk graced Chaos face, and he chuckled before continuing his work. "He's in love."

Chaos counted to three and waited for the explosion that followed that statement.

If he were a less controlled man, Bakura would have screamed. But all he had to do was remember his earlier embarrassing episode and his current location, and he could beat down any further thoughts or actions that might further serve to embarrass him. The fact that'd he'd done so even once was humiliating enough. Mana would never let him live this down.

And worse it did little to ease his situation. He still had no idea why he was suddenly so upset or angry or whatever the hell it was he was feeling whenever he realized that M'Ange wasn't with him…no not M'Ange. Ryou. That had been the boy's name. That's what he'd told him when he'd waved to him from the tower, wearing the brightest and sweetest smile that would put Mana's to shame. Just the memory sent a flutter through his chest, and Bakura found it so unfamiliar that he nearly made himself sick from the confusion. The gypsy braced his arm against the wall and ran a hand through his hair. He pressed his back against the rough stone and exhaled a frustrated gasp of air.

These feelings were so strange and foreign. He couldn't decide if they were good or bad. As far as emotions went, Bakura knew plenty of them and made his leaving manipulating them to his will. Seduction was a game after all, and he knew exactly how to make everyone want him, even if they knew they'd never get anything more than his dances. But even then that had been for fun and if anyone actually took him up on those offers, he'd keep them at an arms-length for reasons that were nothing less than obvious.

But not Ryou. The boy had made his innocence quite obvious. He enjoyed his dance, but had denied it and countered him at every turn. Always delighting in a challenge, Bakura met his match blow for blow. But the boy was so incredibly naïve and unicorn innocent, watching him perform his tricks and run around like a child was almost adorable. So much in fact that it left the gypsy thinking about it long after the time had passed and that frustrated him! He was the one who seduced everyone and left them dry, not the other way around! But Ryou was a church child. He was obviously too naïve to know how to tempt and tease and if he did then it would be considered lust and thus something to be ignored and avoided at all costs. If Ryou had secretly been trying to seduce him, Bakura would've broken down laughing. Still, it wasn't lust. Bakura knew that for a fact. It was something different.

Friendship maybe? Mana had always told him he needed to branch away from the caravan once in a while, and it was nice to actually have someone to talk to. Especially since the closest he got to human contact outside of the gypsies was outwitting the guards. Still it seemed to weak a word. At this rate he'd be better off doing the one thing he'd swore he'd never do and ask his siblings.

"Dammit!" Bakura punched the wall, hoping it would ease his busted ego. It didn't.

"Now what would possibly make someone so lovely look so angry?" the charismatic words rolled off the tongue in clipped baritone keys, that made even Bakura spin around to find their origin.

Immediately his guard went up and his hand instinctively reached for the knife he kept contained in his belt. Leaning smugly against the wall, not five feet from him, and with a smile that would make a weakling faint, stood none other than the most hated of all the King's guards: Malik Ishtar, the younger brother of the Bishop.

* * *

Malik couldn't believe his luck. One minute he'd been desperate to escape his brother's manhunt for his ward, whom he was not allowed near, and on a quest to relieve himself of his anger and drown in the sorrows of his wasted Mardi Gras, only to find none other than the very gypsy that had delighted him earlier that same morning and seduced him with his dances and tricks at the circus. Just the memory spiked his arousal to life. He licked his lips like a hungry wolf at the mere sight of him.

Luscious quicksilver hair cascaded in disheveled spikes down his back. Even with several wild strands fluttering frustratingly about the locks, it still looked perfect. That lean figured was poised elegantly against the wall, revealing long, slender, naked legs, firm with dancer's muscles and bells jingled about the ankles. The firm chest and lean arms carefully concealed beneath the slim shirt and long coat he wore, sculpting that luxurious torso that betrayed nothing but still enhanced the mystery and desire concealed beneath. And that chiseled face was as perfect as ever. His thin lips were pulled into a growl revealing gritted teeth. His cheeks rose in frustration and his eyelids squinted harshly concealing those glorious eyes. It was a look of frustration and anger. It marred those perfect, delicate features in Malik's eyes and he disliked it. He carefully approached the youth, determined to change it.

Carefully, he swaggered to the courtyard wall the youth occupied, put on his most mesmerizing smile and asked, "Now what could possibly make one so lovely look so angry?" He purposely rolled the words off his tongue with a slight purr.

The sultry rasp in his voice succeeded in making the youth shiver and it was a miracle of Malik's will that he didn't grin like a wolf with a rabbit in its jaws.

The moment the man turned around and saw him his entire demeanor and posture transformed from curiosity to offense. That unwanted expression of distrust returned to his face. His eyes narrowed in a fearsome glare, and his arm flew behind his back, most likely to clench some kind of weapon. His body took on a defensive stance, even as he was poised to attack, like a crouched panther. Before Malik could fathom his dislike for the youth's offensive posture, a sharp sheen echoed in his ears and he was hurled to the ground, embarrassingly. His heavy armor clanging loudly against the ground and his own sword was held at his throat.

"Who are you?" the gypsy demanded, his expression fierce and green eyes wild.

Even with a face contorted with rage and mistrust, the boy was beautiful. But the sword, _his _sword poised at his neck was not. Thinking quickly, the guard flashed a kind, albeit alarmed smile and started back-peddling away from the blade but the gypsy pursued him relentlessly. Still moving backwards, he held up a hand flat and forward in a wave, a universal sign of defense. "Easy there, I mean you no harm."

He was not convinced. "That's what they all say." Bakura continued to pursue the guard, unwilling to lower his guard or loosen the grip on the blade, even as the guard backed against the wall and used the support to try and rise to his feet. Bakura cut him off, unwilling to give the guard even a chance to regain his control.

Seeing the youth was uncharmed by words, Malik composed himself and decided to change tactics. "I am being honest. I simply saw that you were upset and decided to try and help."

His eyes darted towards the sword then back to the youth. The fierceness in his eyes hadn't faltered and he disliked it. He didn't want that beautiful face scowling at him, he didn't even want it teasing him like he did all those drunken fools at the festival. He wanted to see affection and devotion on his face. Devotion only to _him._ "Really," he spoke softly, hoping the change of tone would calm him. "I was mistaken. But if you'd calm down and return my sword, I'd be more than happy to apologize for overstepping my grounds."

"Right," Bakura dragged the word, his voice dripping in rhetoric. "And I suppose once I return it to you, you will turn around, bow and leave? That you won't attack me the moment you have it back and hold it to my throat until you have me chains? I think not, I know better than to trust a guard, let alone a Captain, if that broach of yours is any indignation."

If he were not so knowledgeable in the sights and activities of emotions, Malik would've growled at the obvious symbol of his status being the cause for his current situation. The gypsy's hatred for the guards was not uncommon, but his patience was wearing thin and he'd be damned if he lost his magnificent specimen because of a job he didn't want.

"I have no desire of doing that," Malik said sweetly. "I, unfortunately, did not choose this occupation, and if I may be frank, I detest it. I don't care much for rounding up innocents simply because some people dislike them."

His words were honest, there weren't many perks were granted to him as Captain, it was a pointless job that he despised. He had no desire to be a pawn in his brother's extermination, and if that dislike would help him earn a place in the gypsy's bed then why not tell the truth?

Slowly, so not to startle the boy, whose fierceness was already beginning to mellow at the unexpected responses, Malik placed a gauntlet-covered finger on the edge of the blade and carefully pushed it away from his neck. Sensing the weakening grip on the hilt, he clenched the sword's blade in the gauntlet and squeezed. Not expecting the action, the gypsy lost his grip, and Malik seized the opportunity to wrench the sword free. The action knocked the boy off his feet, but he quickly spun onto his back and pulled a pair of knives from his belt. Thick, sharp steel knives; not the dulled, decorative ones he'd used in his performance. He rolled into a half somersault, and then used the momentum to project himself to his feet, just as Malik lifted his heavy, armored body of the ground.

The fierce look in his eyes returned. "You sneaky, son of a-"

"Ah-ah, watch it, we're so close to the church," Malik cut him off, politely. "And to be fair, I _did_ ask nicely."

"I should've known," the gypsy lunged forward, the knives spinning in his hands. Malik raised his sword in defense and blocked the two knives with his blade and gauntlet, allowing Bakura to push him back, but careful not to become cornered.

The boy fought fiercely, and more than once Malik found himself using his full strength just to defend. He could easily disarm the boy, but it would do little in his quest to earn the gypsy's trust, and he didn't want that lovely body riddled with scars.

"Easy there," Malik jumped away, throwing his hands up in a universal sign of defense. When the gypsy refused to drop his guard he continued, "I said I mean you no harm, and I meant it." He sheathed his sword and bowed graciously to leave. "If I may, I shall take my leave."

Bakura blinked. That wasn't how the guards spoke, or how they acted. Most of the time they flaunted authority, grabbed and arrested but never asked questions or showed anyone any concern. They held swords and knives and struck without warning until their victims surrendered. Even their higher-ups were treated and regarded with fear and respect only through force. They never cared if a simple person was upset or in need of assistance unless it affected them directly or the issue was brought to the higher ranks of authority. So why was this one being so polite? He didn't even fight back?

"You're not arresting me?" He asked the man's back. Bakura wasn't naïve enough to believe seeing someone in frustration was the only reason the man came over. Still this guard intrigued him.

Malik's smirk curled at the corners, the wolf had snared its prey. An introduction was all that was needed, once inside it was simply a matter of what was needed to craft a persona necessary to earn the boy's trust. Pulling his lips into a friendly smile and with kind eyes and a civilian's voice, he answered "Not unless defending one's self is a crime. I personally do not believe so."

Bakura shrugged. "You're not at all like the other soldiers." He remarked, sheathing his knives, but approached the guard cautiously. Polite or not, he was still a guard. This could easily be a trick.

"Thank you, I take that as a compliment," Malik accepted the compliment graciously. "Who are you?" Bakura asked, intrigued.

"My name is Malik Ishtar." He boasted proudly. "Malik means King, Ishtar is the name of a goddess of war."

Bakura raised an unimpressed eyebrow as if the display of arrogance was meant to arouse his approval. Unsure of the man's intentions Bakura countered his bravado with a tactic of his own. "Ishtar, as in the brother of the Bishop Ishtar?" he mocked, curiously.

He'd recognize the younger brother of the bishop even if the man had kept silent about his name. The bishop's face was well known among the gypsies, as was his brother's. The man's mysterious departure from the city has been the talk of the town for months. His sudden return, and on Mardi Gras no less, ignited an uproar. Bakura had fortunately never met the Bishop or his brother but their unusual bronze skin, rare for the area, pale corn-silk hair and lavender eyes made them easy to recognize. Nonetheless, he was not naïve. He knew to never trust a guard, especially not a Captain. No matter how polite he was being, it could still be a trick.

Malik resisted the urge to growl when the boy crossed his arms and stood rigid, but he caught the curiosity the boy kept well masked within his eyes. Perfect.

"Unfortunately," he answered in a voice full of dread. "He's the reason behind my current occupation you see. He's determined to save my 'damned soul' as he calls it. As I am sure you can tell, he and I are not exactly on friendly terms. He's quite obnoxious in his opinions, you know?"

"Too well," Bakura gave a small grin.

"Now, if I may be bold," Malik cautiously stepped forward. The viper has the bird in its gaze but it wasn't spellbound just yet. It could still fly away. "May I ask your name?"

Bakura hesitated than answered "Esmeralda." Only stage names were used outside the Court and the presence of gypsies. It was too dangerous to give out one's true name.

"Esmeralda," Malik replied, loving how the name rolled off his tongue with a purr. "That suits you, a beautiful name for a beautiful young man." Malik flashed an amorous grin and resisted the urge to pounce when the gypsy's face suffused with color, and oh what a delectable color it was. That lovely tint of scarlet against his lightly tanned skin dyed it a soft pinkish auburn. Those brilliant, bright eyes and soft, silver hair only made the color more palpable.

Bakura didn't know whether to be appreciative or offended by the remark. He recognized that smile. Was the guard…flirting with him? He was used to be the object of desire but affection was another thing entirely, and no one had ever _acted_ on it before? Part of him wanted to punch the man for being so forward, and another part wanted to accept the compliment and hear more, and another part wanted him to turn around and run before the situation could spin any more out of his control. Too many thoughts, too may complications, too many at once. _Damn it, what is happening to me!_

"You really are nothing like the other guards," Bakura shook his head, desperate to maintain control, finding the charming man, harder and harder to tolerate, but not for any negative reason.

"I am glad," Malik smiled, adding a sultry purr to his words. "I should hope I continue to prove to you I am not, but I would like to know more about you…Esmeralda."

That way his name rolled off the man's tongue sent a shiver down Bakura's spine. Whether it was from pleasure or dread he wasn't sure. But that polite speech, gentle demeanor, and kind smile, it was almost like…

"Perhaps you would like to schedule a rendezvous point?" Malik took a step closer, his voice dripping with charm.

"Ryou," Bakura suddenly breathed, realization dawning on him so suddenly. He covered his mouth in shock, remembering where he was and more importantly whom he was with.

"Is that a place?" Malik asked curiously, confused by the sudden outburst. It didn't sounds like a place but arrogance forbade him from believing the object of his desires would dare think of another while in his presence.

Bakura shook his head and regained himself. "Apologizes, I was lost in my thoughts," the gypsy countered, seeming nervous. "I'm afraid I must decline your offer. My family will come looking for me soon; they just get so nervous when I'm late." He explained already taking small steps backwards. Before the guard could protest, the gypsy turned on his heels and broke into a run.

"Wait!" Malik commanded, charging after him but the moment he turned the corner he found the alleyway vacant of life. Above him the chime of bells echoed in his ears. He searched the roofs just in time to catch a flash of red and silver racing across the terrace before vanishing into another alleyway.

Gauntleted hands curled into fists, and shook violently. He whirled around and slammed his fists into the stone wall with a fierce punch. The second soon followed. Powerful blows beat the unprotected stone mercilessly until it chipped and clattered beneath the forced of the man's fury. A violent scream tore itself from his mouth. When he pulled away, heavy rasps replaced his voice and hot liquid pooled over his fingers, dripping dots of red through the cracks of his gauntlets. Drops littered the cobblestone at his sides like scattered rubies.

He pulled off one of the gauntlets and stared at the cracked skin of his knuckles and the black bruises and rust colored blood smearing across his fingers. The color reminded him of the coat the gypsy wore, old and withered and the color faded like dried blood. Remembering the way it molded that perfect form, hugged those firm limbs, and the way it teased him to the curiosity of what lay beneath it, and the thought of that gorgeous specimen writhing beneath him, filled him with fury. With a ferocious growl he slammed his naked fist into the wall, hard enough that a sickening crack echoed from the impact. Whether it was the stone or his own bones breaking he wasn't sure.

Fire burned the skin, blood painted the walls where the skin of his knuckles cracked, the tiny fragments of broken stone dug into the exposed flesh like knives, and the bones of his fingers screamed when he removed them and flexed the aching appendages.

Pain was good. It relaxed him.

* * *

Bakura's heart was still pounding when he made it back to the clearing. The caravans were already packed and loaded, ready to leave, and the gypsies had already donned less suspicious costumes to hide their appearances from the night watch. He was shivering but he couldn't figure out why. His hammering heart and deep breathing alerted him that something was off, and it frustrated him that he didn't know what.

Part of him knew it was disgust. He was practically flirting with a guard for God's sake? A Guard that was also a Captain, who hated his job, and unlike the other guards who would've attacked and arrested him or pinned him to the ground and possibly rape him before handing him over to the palace of justice to either be burned or hanged or tortured in jail for the rest of his life.

This guard had been well mannered and gracious without even an attempt to harm him. Even after Bakura had disarmed him, but that was all, and he spoke so graciously, Bakura was surprised by how courteous he was given the fact he had disarmed him, threw him to the ground, and held him at sword point.

But it wasn't the guard himself he'd been intrigued by, he'd realized that. It was that all he could hear, see, and remember was sweet-tempered and courteous personality Ryou possessed. He'd been flirting with a guard because the guard reminded him of Ryou? Even on a subconscious level the mysterious boy consumed his thoughts.

Again Bakura found himself burying his frustrated hands into his hair, but this time he pressed his forehead against the nearby wall. How the hell could one person he'd only known half a day affect him so much? Hell he'd been a nuisance at best their first meeting, that dialect of his was so proper and pronounced that it frustrated him. And he was naïve, dreadfully so.

He was like a curious child in constant need of supervision. More than once he had to keep his eyes glued to him in fear that Ryou would get too curious and innocently run into danger if he didn't. He wasn't a damned nursemaid!

But at the same time, he was so sickeningly sweet that it was impossible to be mad at him. He was the _last_ person Bakura should've been curious about, yet the boy haunted his thoughts like a cheerful ghost who wanted to play games all day. Or a child that needed constant watch, or an angel who saw the good in everyone and wanted to make everyone happy.

"Damn it, I did it again!" Bakura shot up and nearly slammed his head against the wall, but vanity prevented him from doing anything that would damage his face. Not even Mana frustrated him this much, so what was going on?"

He rolled around and leaned back against the wall. Frustration and confusion taking its toll on his body, he slid to the ground.

"Are you alright?" He looked up to see Mana leaning over and staring at him, her hands on her hips and her large blue eyes blinking curiously.

"Oh yes," Bakura retorted, "I'm just curled up on the ground 'cause it's fun!"

The snap earned him a whack on the head. "Don't be mean, you jerk!" Mana snapped.

Bakura glared at her and growled "You asked!" He shoved past her and stormed off.

"That's why I asked," she continued, yelling at his back. "You were fine until this afternoon and then you started acting all mopey and weird. So suck it up and tell me what's wrong. Does it have something to do with that boy?"

Bakura hesitated for a second.

He recovered quickly but the pause didn't go unnoticed by Mana. "Ah, so it does," A devious smirk curled across her face. "I thought you looked unusually happy after the show."

"Shut up!" Bakura whirled around and snapped. "It has nothing to do with that!"

"So where is your friend?" Mahado strolled over and into the conversation.

Bakura snorted. "I took him home, and why are you all so quick to call him my 'friend'. I only met him this afternoon."

"Well, you normally don't invite someone you don't like to publically join your performances." Mahado smirked. "You're much too vain to share the spotlight."

Bakura stayed still. His expression stoic. It was true: his performances were so strict and precise, just the thought of someone freelancing his practiced, perfected masterpiece was unthinkable. But Ryou bragged so much about his own talents, the acrobat was curious. "You know that I love a good challenge," Bakura countered. "He offered one."

"Perhaps, but I don't recall you ever spending the entire day with one of your challenges either," Mana said coyly. "Is that something you're not telling us?"

"No," Bakura said quickly and harshly. "Why the sudden interest in my social connections?"

"Because you don't _have_ any social connections."

The three whirled around. Their eldest sibling and Master stood behind him grinning. "At least, none you remember so well after leaving them."

"And _how_, exactly, would you know that?" Bakura asked rhetorically.

Chaos caught the sarcasm in his voice all too well. The boy always used it when he wanted to hide his inner turmoil and confusion, but he answered anyway. "I know because, you cannot stop thinking about him, yet you don't know why." Bakura paused for a second. "You keep seeing him no matter how hard you try not to, but again you don't know why." Another pause. "And when you think about him, he makes you feel things you don't normally feel, which again you don't know what they are, and all of that frustrates you because you want to know what it is so that you can make it go away." That time he stopped. "But no matter how hard you try…you can't."

Chaos resisted a victorious smirk when Bakura turned to look over his shoulder, his barricade weakening.

Finally, he watched the boy – internally - swallow his pride, put on a brave face and ask, "Huh? Well then, if you're so confident, then what do you think is wrong with me?" Bakura crossed his arms and smirked, thinking he had his guardian cornered.

Chaos shook his head at the bravado and replied. "You're in love."

Chaos would've given _anything_ to capture the reaction that resulted from that simple statement. Bakura's entire expression dropped. Stunned mystification and disbelief caused his eyes to bulge. His face contorted with befuddlement, unable to fathom or even process the words being said to him or even consider the possibility that they might be true.

Mana's eyes shrunk and her mouth opened and split into an expression torn between humor, shock, and confusion.

Mahado's jaw hit the ground and his eyebrows rose so high his eyes bulged, an impossible expression on one known for his iron control and seriousness save for his moments of mischievous.

Chaos' grin remained on Bakura unsure if the man would laugh or lunged at him, for such an insulting statement. Fortunately, the boy's shocked expression twisted with disbelief and humor until he finally burst into a laugher so violent Bakura had to hold his sides to keep himself upright.

"What is this?" He chocked between laughs. "The show is over Chaos, surely there is no need for jesting."

Chaos expected the response, but his eyebrows narrowed in solemnity nonetheless. "What makes you think I'm jesting?" He commanded.

Bakura's stopped his laughing but he kept the expression of humor evident on his face. "Oh come now, you can't possibly be serious. Me, in love? We'd sooner have better luck finding a place that doesn't want to prosecute us outside the Court of Miracles?"

"I have to agree, Chaos," Mahado chimed in. "Bakura is that _last_ person to know what love is."

Despite the truth in the word, Bakura glared at him nonetheless.

"I never said he did," Chaos chuckled and smiled at Bakura, "But as for you, don't be so quick to dismiss it. You're an adult, Bakura. You're at the age where you're going to discover love," he gave the boy a proud smile.

Bakura blinked, his eyes were filled with confusion and gravity, grasping the situation but unable to handle it.

"My only advice is to be careful who you give your heart to. You're a special boy, Bakura, thus you should only ever give your heart to a special person, and not everyone is trustworthy. You_ must_ be extremely careful. The glib words brought the severity of the warning into reality, and even Bakura dared not defy them.

Instead he nodded. "I think you're concerns are too optimistic but thank you for the advice." Bakura paused for a minute. "Chaos?" he asked "What does Ryou mean?"

"Ryou?" Chaos asked confused. "Is…that a name?"

"It's a pretty word," Bakura replied. "Why? What does it mean?"

"It means 'complete' or 'fulfillment'. It's not a name is it?"

Bakura shook his head. "No it's nothing."

Chaos smiled. With the matter cleared he spun around, returning to the grand persona of King of Gypsies. "Now then, everyone do one last sweep and make sure you have everything. We won't be coming back so anything that's not retrieved is lost forever, good?" The tone was unripe but held no room for argument. "Now get moving."

The King of Gypsies disappeared among the caravan, once alone the weight of the card in his pocket burned so heavily it nearly collapsed him. He retrieved it from his coat, his Mistress' final warning screaming hauntingly in his head as he gazed at the object: a simple card decorated with nine positioned swords. "The Martyr," he whispered to himself. "Be careful, Bakura."

The trio made their way up the caravan, confident they had everything. Bakura lead the way with a hop.

His mind still boggled about what Chaos had said. Him, in love? The prospect was ridiculous. And even more was the thought of being in love with Ryou. His hand moved subconsciously towards this neck where his mother's pendant, the symbols of his parent's love dangled. Except…Bakura didn't feel that familiar weight. No heavy oval. Not even the chain against the cloth of his neck.

Panic and horror struck him. "No," he looked down at himself his palm slammed against his chest and smoothed all over his neck seeking any sign of the heavy emerald or the silver chain it dangled on. "No!" His heart nearly burst from his chest with horror. His eyes darted to the ground, painstakingly scanning each floorboard, each pale cobblestone for the large bright emerald. It should've appeared immediately. He found nothing.

"NO!" He screamed and darted all across the courtyard, scanning every inch, more than once he dove to the ground, searching the gutters or under the caravans. "No, no, no, no. NO!" He screamed at the top of his lungs. The commotion alerted his family to his distress.

"What's wrong, Bakura?" Mana called.

"It's gone!" the boy screeched in terror, his nails and knees caked with dirt from his search and his eyes wide. "My emerald! I can't find it!"

Three sets of eyes widened. "Are you sure…it's not…just… misplaced?"

Bakura wasn't sure who said it, but it made him furious. "DON'T JEST!" Bakura screamed. "You all know how important my mother's emerald is to me!"

"Calm down, Bakura," Chaos soothed. "We'll find it."

"It's not here, I checked." Bakura yanked at his hair. "It must be in the plaza, it has to be I had it during the circus and when Ryou and I were dancing, it has to be there." He moved to dash, but Mahado and Mana moved to grab him.

"Bakura wait! It's too dangerous!"

"She's right, the night watch will be swarming the streets!"

"I don't care! I'm not leaving until I find that emerald."

"Then wait until we get to the Court of Miracles first," Chaos ordered, "It'll be safer."

"No!" Bakura wrenched himself free from his siblings. "It's an _emerald_! Someone would have stolen it by then if they haven't already," his voice was nothing but growls of rage and terror. That emerald was more than just a necklace. It was his mother's. The only thing he had left of her. Her memories. Her face. Her smiles. Everything about her, lost forever. No, he couldn't risk it. He couldn't. "Go without me, I'll meet you there, I know the way!"

Before any of them could protest, Bakura bolted from sight. The flash of his red coat was the last thing they saw before he disappeared among the alleys of Paris.

* * *

Dusk had fallen faster than Ryou has expected, but he'd arrived just in time to ring the bells for the evening mass. Unfortunately, he was forced to perform the task in his costume, much to the amusement of the Grigori, who laughed the entire time. Yami teased him about looking like a fairy; Yugi even said he flew like one. Atem just laughed watching him fly around.

Once completed, the trio bombarded him with questions about his day and Ryou delighted in telling them, while they helped him remove the difficult costume. The wings alone were a pain.

"It was fantastic!" Ryou said with dreamy eyes, while Yugi undid the ties on the corset. "I'd never had so much fun. It was like when I rung the bells, but more fun! And Bakura was such wonderful company; I couldn't believe it when he asked me."

"That's the _tenth_ time you mentioned that boy," Atem pointed out, from his position sitting cross-legged on Ryou's bed. His eyebrow twitched each time he spoke. "I'm pretty sure you mentioned this young man's entire routine down to the step."

Ryou giggled. "It was a wonderful routine," Ryou commented, gathering up his night clothes to change into. "And he's a wonderful dancer. I loved the gypsy music! It was so riveting!"

"Thank god, you came home," Yami laughed. "I don't think Atem would've lasted."

"Don't joke, Yami!" Atem snapped. "Our little M'Ange running off with some boy he just met: the idea!"

"I would never run away," Ryou peeked his head from behind the changing wall. "As much as I would've loved to see the Court of Miracles, I could never leave you three, or the church. This is home."

"And like Yami said, it would be Atem's worst nightmare." Yugi added.

"Still, Ryou, you're an adult. You shouldn't restrict your own wishes simply because of your Master, or us. You have your own life to live." Yami explained.

"I know," Ryou answered, emerging in a simply cotton shirt and pants he normally slept in.

"I mean it," Yami said more firmly. "You're not a priest, Ryou, or a monk. Yes, the Bishop adores you, and the church is your home, but if you lived here forever, you'd never be happy." Yami got up and wrapped his arms and wings around the young man. "You need to be free to spread your wings, outside this church."

Ryou returned the hug, and let Yami guide him towards his bed, where Yugi and Atem also had hugs waiting for him. "I know," Ryou breathed. "I really do, I'm just not ready to go anywhere just yet." He looked up: from his room he could see many of the bells. The Maries, the regular bells, enormous Emmanuel and silver chimes. He loved those bells.

"I love the church, I love the bells, and I love all of you so much. I don't want to leave just yet. Besides, I never really had a reason to want to spread my wings."

"Well you might now," Yugi smiled so brightly his cheeks turned pink. "This new friend of yours sounds like he'd want to see you more often." There was a mischievous in his voice that made Ryou blush.

"Over my dead-" Atem began to protest only to be shoved backwards by the two remaining Grigori, causing all three of them to laugh until a knock at the door halted their play.

"One moment!" Ryou jumped to his feet and fluttered his arms for the Grigori to hide. "I'm indecent." It wasn't a lie, only the Bishop ever saw him in his night clothes.

He grabbed his heavy robe, a gift from the Bishop for the winter nights, while the Grigori jumped into the air and soared into their cradle.

"Take your time," Ryou recognized the voice as Ishizu's.

He opened the door, hastily, with a pant. The Abbess stood dressed in the long, black shrouds of a mourning nun. Even the headdress she wore covering her hair was black. In her gloved hands she held a tray of bread, a goblet of water, a plate of grapes, a steaming bowl of lumpy, tan portage decorated with cinnamon, and a small plate of cooked fish, shiny with butter and begging to be eaten. The smells made Ryou's mouth water. He offered to take the tray and set it on his side table.

"Oh Sister Ishizu!" he bowed respectfully. "Forgive me; I didn't know you were coming." The Abbess rarely left her cell in the heart of the church, preferring to live in her seclusion mourning and praying for the sins of others as well as herself. It was rare she left her room, but occasionally he saw her helping the Archdeacon with masses and giving penance to sinners who attended confessions.

"The mass ran late, he asked us to bring you dinner if he was unable to, but he did say he wanted to speak to you later." She replied. Her voice was kind but there was a slight distain in her voice.

"Of course," Ryou bowed surprised the woman would do the Bishop a favor but pretended not to notice. "Would you like some?" he offered.

"You are too generous, little one, but no, I am in mourning, I am fasting until dawn." She said sadly, her deep eyes darkened with sadness and regret.

Ryou nodded. "Of course, forgive me. Despite the circumstances; I hope you have a pleasant evening."

"Thank you, Ryou," she nodded then met his black eyes with grave blue ones. "Did the Bishop warn you about…his brother?"

"Yes," Ryou nodded. "He's returning to Paris, he's to be the new Captain of the Guards."

The Abbess snorted. "That position suits him," she snapped bitterly. "Never trust a guard, Ryou. Lord forgive me, but they are all cruel, sadistic and heartless: they know nothing of mercy and are nothing but murders and thieves!" Her words were harsh and wrenched with pain and hatred, but Ryou stayed silent. He knew her anger and distrust was well-earned.

"Sister," The dark voice of the Bishop halted the distraught woman's rant. Ryou looked up, and bowed respectfully. The Bishop strolled into the room, donned in his traditional attire for mass, a grave frown on his face. "I'd strongly appreciate it, if you didn't corrupt my ward with your unwarranted hatred."

"My hatred is _not_ unwarranted," The Abbess said darkly. "The guards robbed me of my children! The children God gave me as redemption for life of shame. They called me a gypsy whore, and robbed me of my children and killed them! They didn't even have the decency to leave their bodies behind and I will mourn them until the day I die. Do _not_ call my hatred unwarranted." Her voice was harsh, but the Abbess' voice was civil. Dark blue eyes locked with the deep lavender eyes of the Bishop. They dueled in a silent battle of wills. Their distrust of the other was evident.

Though the Abbess had earned a respectable reputation among the church, her life was, according to the Bishop, conceived of sin. The daughter of a woman impregnated by a man who promised to marry her, only to be scorned and abandoned. Her life was one of shame and poverty after her mother abandoned her. She had admitted to be a prostitute in another city, living a life of loneliness and regret. Her children, twins had been the only source of hope and light in her life and she'd devoted all of her love and care towards them. Even her neighbors were willing to forgive her for her past misdeeds seeing how strong her love was for her children, determined not to let her children suffer the same fate as she

Her mourning began fifteen years before the Bishop had adopted Ryou. When she'd come to the church in the wake of the tragedy, she confessed all of her sins to the Archdeacon, her life, the truth of her children, and her devastation after her children had been captured and killed. She had become a nun and spent her days mourning her children and repenting her sins. But regardless, the Bishop saw her as no better than the other women he hated: sinners. His own mother had left him and his twin for dead on the Notre Dame foundling where he had found Ryou. But she likewise distrusted him. She distrusted his blindness to corruption, his harsh methods of addressing sinners and his scorn for women.

Only their mutual respect for the Lord and the Church kept them controlled and civil.

"I'd like to speak to Ryou Glory alone if you don't mind, Sister," the Bishop said politely.

The Abbess turned to Ryou and smiled. "Good night, little one." She bowed and left.

"Good night sister," Ryou called to her back. "Thank you for the food."

The Bishop sighed harshly, before turning to his ward. "So how was your day, Ryou Glory?" He pulled up a chair for himself. "Please eat; I've already had my fill."

Ryou did so, never one to disobey his master. "My day went well. It was wonderful to see the Festival." He said truthfully, and cut into the fish with his eyes downcast. It wasn't a lie after all, but he didn't want the Bishop to see the nervousness he knew was in his eyes.

"I can imagine," The Bishop smiled and placed his chin on his folded gloved hands. His eyes locked on Ryou's. Even without looking at them Ryou could feel the command behind the gaze, almost willing him to look at him, but he kept his head down and continued eating. "I know how much you enjoy the festival, despite the obvious debauchery. I think you would've enjoyed it this year. It was quite a show."

"Oh but, I did enjoy it," Ryou's head shot up; too late he realized the mistake of his words. The Bishop gave him a stoic expression, but the commandment in his eyes never faltered. "I mean, I did see it. Notre Dame has the best view of Paris after all. You can see the square quite clearly." He chose his words carefully. He knew lying was a sin and he didn't want to lie, least of all to his master, but surely telling the truth and leaving out some information was not the same as lying, was it? It was a miracle of Ryou's will that his hands didn't start shaking.

"Indeed." The Bishop smiled and placed his hands in his lap. His perfect, relaxed posture, straight back, and confident demeanor strengthened by the unrivaled conviction in his eyes made him the perfect image of truth and justice. The exact opposite, of Ryou's hutched, rigid, meek, nearly trembling form: eyes downcast, fingers stressed, and back hutched over the table to keep himself from looking up as much as possible.

"Are you nervous, Ryou Glory?" he asked, directly.

"A little," Ryou's heart skipped a nervous beat that lasted for so long he thought it stopped. Time crept by eerily slow, and he felt the weight of his master's judgmental eyes on him.

"Why are you so nervous?" The Bishop interrogated.

"I…" Ryou tried to speak but found he couldn't. Nothing he said would sound like the truth and he could never lie to his master. The man would know it and then he could confront him about it. He'd already disappointed his Master once he didn't want to do so again.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Ryou Glory?"

Ryou couldn't see the Bishop's face. He kept his eyes downcast, but the Bishop's voice was softer, less commanding. It was a tone he used when speaking to those who confessed their sins, and assuring them should they respect their penance they would be forgiven. But he didn't want to confess. He had disobeyed his master's command, yes, he'd given into temptation, yes, but he didn't regret it. He'd loved that wonderful Mardi Gras he'd spent and would give anything to have another day like it. He didn't want to confess to it being a sin. Wisely, Ryou said nothing.

"I see," the Bishop sighed in defeat. The words sounded so broken and so sad that Ryou's eyes flew open. The remorse cut into his heart like a blade and it ached to the core of his being that _he_ had caused his master such pain.

The Bishop got up to leave; his cape whirled mournfully about him like fallen wings. "Before I leave, I wanted to tell you, Ryou Glory, some of the priests and I shall be attending La Sainte-Chapelle. There are several prisoners there about to be executed and some have decided to make their peace with the Lord before death. I will be gone for several days, and I've told the nuns to oversee your care in my absence." He said robotically. His eyes closed and his posture straight and forward, not bothering to look at his ward. "I should be back in no later than a week."

Ryou watched him walk away, towards the door. Away from him. He'd be free once he left. His master need never know about his act of betrayal. Never know how close he came to leaving him forever, even if he suspected something, surely it would pass. The Bishop always forgave him. This time would be no different. He could go back to tell the Grigori all about his wonderful time, maybe even think of a way to visit Bakura, he had the key he'd given him after all. All he had to do was decipher it. And all he had to do was stay silent.

"Master!" Ryou called back to him. The Bishop paused and turned to look over his shoulder. A faint gasp was quickly smothered above him and a small breeze through his hair alerted him to the Grigori's panic. "I do have something I want to tell you, but it is not a confession. Regardless if its origin was sinful, I don't regret it." He said firmly, his voice laced with terror and passion. The Bishop turned around to face him, his posture sharp and his eyes, parentally stern. It made Ryou feel like a child again. Like he had felt all those years ago when he'd last betrayed his Master and had been forced to admit to the crime. But he was a child no longer. He was nearly an adult, and he'd made his choice. He didn't regret his choice.

"I wasn't lying to you before, but I didn't tell you…I…" He kept his bravado but once the time came to speak the actual words, they died in his throat. Determination chocked them from him. "I went to the Mardi Gras today. I'd been planning on going for a while, and I couldn't bear the thought of missing it. I know you told me not to, and I'm sorry, but I stayed far away from your brother as I promised, and I didn't plan on staying long but I befriended someone, and they asked me to stay longer, but I decided to come home, so I did." He said finally, his throat cracked and dried once he finally finished speaking. He exhaled a breath and with it an unbearable heaviness that had been building upon him lifted from his body. Suddenly he felt weightless; completely free of his burden that even the fear of punishment did not stress him. Still he straightened his posture, neutralized his expression and remained firm in his master's presence. "As I said, I'm sorry is disobeyed you, but I don't regret my decision. However, I'm willing to accept the consequences of my actions."

He waited for his Master's anger, his betrayal, his penance, everything but what his master _did_ do. He _laughed_. A strong, true, hearty laugh, so sweet Ryou's heart nearly stopped that his strong and perfect master could even make such a frivolous sound. Even when happy his amusement was never above a chuckle, not like this. It ended quickly, but the sounded imbedded itself in Ryou's mind and rung in his ears, louder than all of the bells of Notre Dame.

"May the Lord forgive me, for ever doubting you, my Ryou Glory." The Bishop smiled and patted the stunned boy's head.

"Ma-Ma-Master," Ryou stuttered, and shivered at the touch, more scared than before. The reaction was so unexpected and so uncharacteristic he had no idea how to handle it.

"Oh Ryou Glory, you must think me a fool."

"Of course not!" Ryou protested immediately, insulted his Master would even ask. "You are the wisest man I know."

"Not the wisest," the Bishop said modestly, "But even smart men can make foolish decisions. Ryou Glory, I knew you could never resist attending the festival, I told you not to go because I wanted to test you."

Ryou blinked, "I don't understand?" he replied, hurt in his voice.

"Do not think I don't trust you, Ryou Glory." The Bishop placed his hands on Ryou's shoulders and knelt down to his eye level. "For I do, but as the Lord tests us every day, I had to test you. You are so pure, Ryou Glory, you love your work and you love your life and you love our Lord and you love all those around you and you love this church but you never leave it. I needed to see that you could find something else you love, _be _tempted by something else, but have the wisdom to make the right choice, and you did. Now I must ask that you forgive me."

Ryou's eyes widened in shock. "Forgive you? Master, no, I'm the one who-" The bishop cut him off.

"Perhaps, you _did_ disobey, but you confessed to that sin, already, and I forgave you before you even committed it. But I admit when I saw you today at the circus I feared you would make the wrong choice."

Mortification colored Ryou's cheeks. "You saw that?" he looked away, shamefully.

"Do not feel guilty, you hid yourself well." The Bishop turned the boy's chin to face him again. "I did not even recognize you at first, but I saw no difference from your usual job of ringing the bells, and the Lord does not punish one who loves his work. But I admit I feared for you. I feared you would choose wrong. I feared you would give into the temptation presented to you."

_I almost did._ Ryou thought, bitterly to himself. Even if he didn't the idea Bakura presented to him still rang clear in his mind and his heart back-flipped into song at the very thought.

"But you didn't." The Bishop completed his thought. "You came home. You made the right choice and didn't give in to your selfish desires, but for a moment I believed you would, and for that, I hope you shall forgive me."

"Of course, I do!" Ryou said instantly. "I could never be angry at you for that."

The Bishop patted his head again, only this time Ryou found it comforting.

"Yes, the Lord reminded me such, when he sent me this," The Bishop added, removing something from his pocket. Ryou didn't see what it was but he felt the Bishop's arms move about his neck. Something heavy pressed against his clothed chest and a chill of metal settled on his neck, followed by a low click. Ryou looked down at himself, and his eyes widened with awe. Carefully, almost not daring to believe the object was real; his fingers brushed gently over the smooth surface of a walnut-sized emerald, and traced its ends to the links of silver chain holding it in place.

"Oh, it's beautiful?" Ryou couldn't take his eyes off of it. His palm moved to cup and it settled perfectly. His eyes suddenly felt wet a frowned set on his face. It was beautiful. Beautiful and perfect; too much so for him. "Oh Master, I can't accept this?"

"It was meant for you," the Bishop explained. "When I thought to doubt you, the Lord sent this to me, it was sign to me to not lose my faith you, as you've never lost your faith in me. It became clear to me when you confessed the truth to me this was meant to be your reward. Keep it, if you feel you have not earned it yet, you will in time." The Bishop rubbed the tears from his eyes and kissed the boy's forehead.

"Thank you," Ryou nodded, whipping his eyes. "It's perfect."

Bishop Marik smiled at his charge and with an elegant turn, his cloak floating to his sides like a black-winged angel retracting its wings. "Good night, Ryou Glory, I shall see you in a few days." He left with those words turning one last time to smile at his charge. "Do not forget, I love you, Ryou Glory."

Ryou nodded and watched him leave. Once the door closed behind him he sank to his knees. The weight of what had happened and what his master said collapsing and releasing from him making his entire body feel numb and weightless at once. The Grigori were immediately by his side, questioning him on his state and frantically demanding answers. Once he could speak again Ryou mollified their fears and leaned back into Yugi's lap.

"My God, I never thought this would ever happen." He breathed, still in slight surprise at his Master's reaction to his truth. His hand still hadn't let go of the pendant he was holding.

"You had us scared there," Yugi admitted. "We were afraid he'd hurt you."

"He wouldn't do that," Ryou said, sitting up. "You know the Bishop is strict but he is just at heart. He would never harm me if I didn't deserve it."

"Still," Atemu turned away, glaring where the Bishop once stood. Ryou didn't bother to attempt to mollify his anger. Atem would never trust Bishop Marik. He knew that. It was useless to convince him otherwise.

"Still, it's a good thing you told him. From the sound of it, he'd already suspected. Keeping the truth contained would've only made things worse for you," Yami explained leaning against the bed.

"It already was," Ryou confessed, pulling his knees to his chest and leaning against the soft shelter of Yugi and Yami's combined wings. "Just the weight of it made me numb, like I couldn't move. Now I know, why the Lord says to not lie. The stress is too painful to bear." His thumb rubbed over the emerald, and he looked down at it. "I still don't think I deserve this though."

"You're too humble," Atem laughed, his eyes locked on the shiny, green object. "I wonder where he found this. Emeralds are uncommon in France."

"Well, he said the Lord sent it to him," Yugi reminded. "Maybe someone lost it and he mistook it as a sign?"

"He doesn't make mistakes like that," Ryou protested, but in his heart the thought of such a lovely object belonging to someone else filled him with jealousy, but he forced it aside.

"I doubt someone would be careless enough to lose something like this," Yami added. "That emerald is solid, it hasn't been cut, and it was literally been found and crafted in this shape. It's too expensive to belong to someone who isn't lower-class."

"Well, wherever it came from, I will take care of it now." Ryou smiled and got to his feet, with a loud yawn. "We should head to sleep, it's getting late." He gestured to the darkness outside, and the fading lights of his candles. "Good night."

"Night," The three Grigori smiled before disappearing into their cradle above his room. Ryou smiled and carefully unclipped the emerald from his neck and slid it under his pillow. It really was beautiful, and so familiar. The color alone wasn't something one forgot easily. The green shade was so perfect and smooth. Not too much tiny but not so much a shade either, but a perfectly balanced color in between. The large size reminded him of an eye and if not for the ridges it was almost as smooth but the crevices in the stone was like a walnut shell. Careful to not let the object fill him with greed, he covered it with a pillow and slipped off the necklace Bakura had given him. A small pain pinched his heart as he cupped the necklace, wishing so much he could decipher its hidden meaning.

He slipped it under the pillow, carefully, right next to the lovely emerald, the color mirroring Bakura's eyes.

Ryou shot up. "Bakura!" He breathed, memory flooded his mind so clearly, it ashamed him he could not recall it before. The emerald sitting innocently on his mattress, so beautiful and perfect, just like the eyes of the gypsy boy. "_He_ had the pendant!"

* * *

Not one of my evil cliffhangers but still enough to make you think. I'm personally very proud of this chapter, specifically the Characterization.

I SWEAR, writing Bakura in any type of emotional turmoil (in this case his confusion and disbelief that he could like someone, especially Ryou) was THE hardest thiing to write in the history of my career! I'm personally proud of the scene with him and Malik, which was actually rewritten after I watched the scene with Phoebus and Esmerelda from the Disney version, cept I didn't want Bakura to instantly fall for the guy, he's way too cautious for that, but of course Malik's dealt with people like him before and they always fall for his charm, so yeah i'm very proud of the character development in that scene.

The section with Ryou and the Bishop was equally hard to do: not joke it look like 3 hours to type! But it came out nicely. I wasn't sure whether to introduce Ishizu in this chapter or not but I found a spot for her and went with it, she'll be important later on. So pay attention to this chapter, cause it sets everything up for the rest of the story!


	9. Lust

I UPDATED THIS STORY A MONTH BEFORE THE ONE-YEAR MARKER! VICTORY IS MINE!

I cannot apologize enough for ANOTHER almost year-long wait for this story to be updated! I really can't! All the credit gotes to BakuraFangurl: we had a conversation about updating old fics and I realized i hadn't updated this fic in a year this MAY! I was furious!

I have no excuse other than job-hunting, work, Grad School and finishin DR and FK just kicking my ass, but FK has only one chapter left and once that has been posted I plan on working soley on thisd story (and on and off with AIEW) because I need a SERIOUS break from heavy romance, fantasy and emotional puzzleshipping: phew!

Also if you haven't voted on my poll it's still up!

Dedications got to My wonderful friend Bakurafangurl for not only reminidng me to update this but for editing it in one day (I got it written in two!)

Disclaimer: Takehashi owns the Cast, the inspiration for the plot and story line belongs to Viktor Hugo and the Disney corporation, the only I did is write it and create the differnt archs and plot twists

WARNING: Religious extremities, mention of character death, sexual assault and violence and eventual Tendershipping: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T LIKE!

As always, read, review, comment critique and feel free to yell at me for making you all wait. lord knows i deserve it.

* * *

_Chapter Nine: Lust_

Bishop Marik descended down the steps of the North Tower with a well-deserved sense of pride in each step. He normally wasn't so lenient with his ward for disobedience but given that he had baited the boy he could let it slide, and he was honestly in too good of a mood to truly punish him. Today was a victory after all. His Glory had redeemed the sins of his youth and proven his purity before the Lord and to himself. An almost sinful giddiness made the Bishop tremble with delight. _His Glory or his Defeat_: those were the words the Archdeacon had spoken when the child's fate was to be decided. Marik had sworn on that faithful day when he had been confronted with his own sin that the child whom he was to adopt would be his Glory and he was. He had proven it to day. Ryou Glory was indeed just that. The child had earned his name.

He had recalled that day so many times in his mind and all with mixed emotions, but never before had he done so with such pleasure. His first vision of the stunning child still burned in his mind, and every day he'd recalled it with horror and disgust. Horror that such a beautiful child had existed and within minutes of its life was already seducing men with its beauty, and disgusted with himself for falling victim to such temptations and, worse, believing the only way to cure it and free the child of his sins was to kill it. He cursed himself to this day for forgetting the word of the Lord was to help the sinner not kill them—even the worst of Paris were imprisoned, not killed. Only the Judges had that power and even then it was only to obey the laws of God.

But he had risen above those ranks, the Bishop recalled with pride. Risen above those sins he'd felt for the child he now loved. Risen above those sinful thoughts and desires, and had reared and raised a being the very image of purity and goodness. Oh yes, the Lord had given him this child as a test, and he had succeeded. The child was indeed his Ryou Glory: Ryou had freed himself from the sins of desire and so had he.

The Bishop paused in his step when he reached the end of the stairs. A black gloved hand weakly supported himself against the wall. The second slowly rose to cover his heart as if the aged organ were suddenly struck by an attack spurred by shock. He quickened his step until he found himself at the base of the Galerie des Chimières. The cool, midwinter air, pouring through the open windows and flying buttresses, was a welcome relief to his suddenly hot and heavy heart. Harsh, ragged breaths expelled from his trembling chest and a free hand rose to clench the loose platinum strands of his hair. What was this? He couldn't fathom the sudden cause of the attack. How could it have come so swiftly? Had the Lord sense some sort of impure thought in him? Was this punishment for his pride? Had he let it swell beyond what was allowed? No, he had been fine then. It had to have been something else? What had he been thinking? He tried to recall but all that came to mind was his joy that Ryou had resisted the sins of temptation and desire…just as he had.

Realization crashed into the man like a blow to the chest. He wondered out of the shadow of the North Tower base and into the open air of the Grand Galley. The flaming colors of the setting sun blared in his eyes though the open pillars. The gargoyles held an ethereal glow in the faded light, waiting for the night to envelope the church and begin their duty of warding off any evil that sought to invade the most sacred and holiest of all God's houses. He gazed at the beautiful explosion of flaming scarlet, deep crimson, ocher and gold and mesh misty purples and lavenders painting the sky and bleeding into the fading violets, cobalt and blacks of the coming darkness.

Normally, he loved the beautiful shining symbol of God's light: his silent promise to return the sun the following morning. But seeing it now filled him with nothing but horror. Gazing upon the glowing lights, he did not see God's love nor did he see the shining promise of hope. He saw no holiness in the colors: only painful reminders of the object of his desire, the gypsy called Bakura Esmeralda, the Glorious Emerald.

Blaring white sunbeams darkened with the palest of gold's and fanning over the darker colors mimicked the flowing quicksilver strands of the dancing gypsy. The blending ochers were eerily similar to the sun-kissed caramel skin shinning with sheens of sweat and glistening in the sun, revealing more and more of it with each movement. The stream of cool colors blending together formed the shapes and shadows of the dancing boy's curves. The colors outlined each perfect curve, each toned muscle and each chiseled feature. So vivid were the memories that Marik could see them taking shape before him. The memory of Bakura's moves and tricks: every flick of his bell-clasped wrists and ankles, every roll of his hip and turn of his sides, every flip of his back and bend of his body in a perfect arch. He could see it all so perfectly as if the boy were dancing in the sunset before all of Paris.

A scream tore itself from the Bishop's rough throat, his back arched forward to bury his head in the crook of his elbows, his hands wove through his hat, gripping short platinum strands of hair and pulled viciously. His knees buckled under his weight and his body pulled into a pathetic curl. He shook his head in despair his lavender eyes shut, feeling the chiseled frowns and stone eyes of the gargoyles and saints glowering into his back with scolding glares: Judgment before the eyes of Notre Dame.

"Why! Why! Why!" He pleaded to the heavens in meek, choked sobs. Why was this happening? He was not a weak man! He did not have a sinner's soul! He was a righteous man. He did not give into the temptations of the flesh or allow himself to be swayed, so why? Why was this gypsy haunting his thoughts so long after he'd seen him. Why were these sickening thoughts filling his mind? Why was he feeling these repulsive desires that exhilarated him just as much as they disgusted him? He had never been tempted before, not since that night, and yet this…temptress…this siren; who used his body instead of his voice, made him want to forfeit his vows of chastity and drag the boy into his bed and do unspeakable things to him; and, worse, a _boy_? But why?

He had willing taken his vow of chastity when he had joined the church. He'd felt nothing for women and saw desire as disgusting. A life of virtue was a pure life. The Good Book said so, didn't it? He had never felt such things before so why now?

A sudden realization made him shoot up. His hands remained in place, his body became rigid and with an elegant step, he stood and regained his perfect composure, save for the enlightenment beaming in his face. "Fool that I am," he scolded himself, giddily, "of course, how could I not have missed it?!" He chuckled before they erupted into laughs. "It's the only thing that makes sense, how else could one capture so many and inspire so much lust? Huh-ha! Very clever little siren, very clever, but this one man you shall not ensnare in your spell so easily." The Bishop declared boldly, spinning around to face the approaching darkness and clenched the banisher with the grace and elegance of a King chosen by God. He felt the Divine Right enter him at that very moment, watching as the sunlight faded into darkness.

"Your witchcraft will not touch _me,_ gypsy, for I am a righteous man! And I shall ensure you pay for your crimes. The sin you spread will not corrupt my glorious city!" He sealed the declaration by making a fist and raised it to meet the heavens, a silent request for the Lord to bless his cause and his mission. So strong was his conviction that he almost didn't notice the lone figure running through the streets of the empty plaza, but a flash of silver caught the man's eyes.

Curiously, he lowered his chin and gazed upon the streets. His heart jumped at the sight of the very object of his desire running into the plaza like the devil was on his heels, stopping every few minutes before throwing himself to his knees upon and ground and arching back and forth in an unspeakable way before getting up and moving to another location.

But instead of the bittersweet curl of lust pooling in his belly, the Bishop felt t a smile slit his face, a swell of pride invigorated his heart.

"Yes, I understand," he directed the words heavenward but spoke with closed eyes and a bowed head. "I understand perfectly!" With a new giddiness in his step and a fire of determination in his being he rushed down the spiral stone stairs to the choir with haste. "I will catch this creator of sin and bring him to justice."

Now all he needed was to get Malik.

It was a common rumor that God would strike the wicked dead if they dared attempt to enter his house, or so Marik had told him numerous times. Thus Malik wondered how he, himself, was able to not only walk past the portals but inside the Church and down the choir without bursting into flames. Quite the opposite, he even felt a chill and not a sinister one either.

Perhaps God did play favorites, Malik smirked, but it quickly turned to a hiss when the soap burned his wounds. He growled as the red liquid festering from the open cracks in his skin pooled over his skin and dyed the water in the basin a pale rusty color.

Fortunately, his earlier fit had not broken any bones according to the Archdeacon, but the bone bruises and open abrasions still demanded attention. The wounds weren't deep and years of guard work and battle had made him a fast healer. Once the blood final stopped, he pulled out a bottle of alcohol he'd bought earlier and smothered the wounds. He twitched at the burning of his skin and growled at the wasted liquor. Once both hands were drenched he grabbed the lint bandages provided by the Archdeacon and bound his fingers and knuckles with just enough force to keep the wounds from opening. A flex of his hand confirmed his fingers could still be used, even though they screamed in protest with each curl.

"Better," the Guard Captain scoffed, before replacing his gauntlet.

"Take those off!" The sharp order came from a woman's voice. Normally, Malik would've ignored it but he recognized this one and instead of obeying arched his neck over his shoulder. The Abbess stood in the doorway with a disapproving glare and a snarl of hatred on her face. Her aged face still held the beauty of her youth and her sharp eyes were dark from the countless years of suffering her life had endured. "You are in a house of God, how dare you bring your weapons here!"

Malik was torn between rolling his eyes and snapping at her for daring to speak to him in such a manner. Part of him wondered if it was worth the risk to do so. He knew full well the Abbess and her brother only, reluctantly at best, tolerated the other, but she was still a woman of the cloth and he knew full well Marik's devotion to the church outweighed whatever, if any, devotion the Bishop had to his brother. Instead, as a strong, silent reproach against the woman, he gathered the basin and objects he'd used to treat his wounds and un-ceremonially dumped them on the floor, causing glass and liquid to splatter.

The Abbess said nothing, did nothing, and only shook her head with disgust. "Such a child," she held her head high and walked past the man, not even glancing at the mess. "Were you not a Guard and a monster like the lot of them? I'd pity your soul the day the Second Coming arrives, but such sentiments would be a waste on you." Her words were sharp and cruel and laced with such hate that even Malik felt their sting. The Abbess may have tolerated the Bishop out of a begrudging respect for the church, but for him, a debauchery guard as she saw him, she had none.

"You should be thanking me Abbess, is it not my Guard who keep this city safe? Is it not us who capture the wicked and imprison them for their crimes and clean the streets of the filth and rats that populated it? Who else frees this city from the gypsies that infest it?!" Malik bragged, arrogantly, the action more to fuel his own pride than to lower hers.

He hadn't expected a reaction, but was surprised when the Abbess spun on her heels and delivered a sharp blow across his face. The slap was so sudden and unexpected it knocked him off his feet. He saw the Abbess make a sign of the cross across her face before scowling at him. "I trust gypsies far more than I trust guards! It was gypsies who showed me kindness in my darkest hour, and brought me here when I sought penance for my life of sin. Where were your guards when I had been abandoned by my mother and disowned by my father who considered her nothing but a passing fancy? Were your guards righteous when they called me whore and ripped my children from my breast, and killed them without even leaving me their tiny bodies to bury? Where were your guards then? No, I do not trust guards, boy. They are monsters consumed by power and greed and always have been and you are the blackest of them all."

Her words were sharp and dangerously low but held such force that even the dead quivered in fear at the echoing volume of her rage. But all Malik could feel was the painful throb in his cheek and the sheer humiliation of it.

"What's going on?" The Bishop descended down the stairs of the tower and into the choir, fiercely surprised to find his brother and the Abbess in the same room and immediately decided that he did not like it.

"Nothing," said the Abbess calmly. "I was just leaving." She strolled passed him making the sign of the cross as she did so.

Once she was gone, the Bishop turned to his brother and watched the man pick himself off the floor with a sort of swagger. "I think the Abbess needs to leave the church more often. Isolation has made her senile."

Marik was clearly not humored by the joke. "Don't jest," he snapped, until he caught the bandages decorating his brother's loan naked hand, his other gauntlet held in the other. "What happened to your hand?"

"Hands," Malik corrected, pulling on the other gauntlet. "And nothing you need to concern yourself with. I just got into a scuffle, is all."

Marik narrowed his lavender eyes darkly, his brows furrowed in disbelief. "I think a more truthful answer would be you attempted to whore yourself with some girl against her will and being a smart woman she rejected you, and as a result you lost your temper."

Malik bristled with rage and scoffed at the comment. "I was not," he said insulted, it hadn't been a _girl_ he was charming after all, but Marik's remark about being rejected stun. The fact that it was true made it worse. His own lavender eyes sharpened, identical to his brothers. The same frazzle blond hair, the same features that arched when angered, the same pale eyes. It was disturbing to both brothers how eerily similar they looked yet how vast their personalities differed.

Dismissing another fight, Marik rolled his eyes and said, "I care not for whatever liaisons you engage in, you abandoned your post this afternoon-"

"If you mean the search for your runaway ward, don't make me laugh. I'm not his caretaker and if you will recall, you specifically ordered me to stay _away _from your brat. I simply obeyed your wishes."

A twitch of Marik's brow was the only flaw in his composure. "Be that as it may, you still left your post, and I do not much care why you did only that you did, but." The pause in the Bishop's voice sounded a little too giddy for Malik's comfort. "No matter, your penance has already been decided." The Bishop spun around, his smile unusually happy, so much that Malik felt disturbed by his brother's sudden change in demeanor. "It seems one of the gypsies was foolish enough to stay in the plaza after dark, a boy with white hair." The bishop took small steps towards his brother until he was towered over the other man even though both brothers were the same height. A gloved hand curled into a point and jabbed the pointer finger in his chest which Malik felt even through his thick armor. "I want you to go into the plaza, capture that boy and bring him to the Palais de Justice. Arrest him on the ground of alleged witchcraft and public indecency. I will see that he is tried upon my return. And do it now, while he's still in the Plaza!" There was a sudden urgency in his voice, as if he was suddenly overcome by a nameless dread. "Go! Now!"

"_Alright_!" Malik said finally, securing his last gauntlet, if only to silence his twin's screams. "Alright!" He secured his belt and sword, and refastened his discarded mantel as he thundered from the church his metal sabatons making loud, crashing metallic screeches against the stone floor. "But forget the penance; I'll do it as a favor." Anything to keep Marik off his back, thought the Captain. A mock act of kindness would certainly earn more credit in the Bishop's eyes than a reluctant act of penance would.

"Fine, fine," the Bishop said shaking his head. "Just get it done! I'm leaving tonight."

"Alright," Malik finally snapped and stormed outside. Deciding that existing through the portals would do little in catching a thief; he slipped out the side entrance of the church and slipped into the shadows of the ally. His black and purple armor hid him well in the darkness and slowly, so his armor would not make any metallic sounds and alert the unsuspecting gypsy that he was being stalked. Years of training had taught him the arts of silence and the art of sneak attacks.

He peeked through the corner of the church, smirking when he caught site of his prey. Only one person remained in the Plaza after the end of the festival and darkness had quickly fallen over the city. Only the boy's distinctive white hair seemed to shimmer in the darkness and torchlight. Using the shadows as cover, Malik swooped into the Plaza, hiding behind any stray object he could find, his unsuspecting victim, clearly too distracted to notice his movements.

The boy suddenly shot up and flung himself onto the ground, kneeling with a frantic shriek. His knees buckled against the ground as he dropped to all fours, his fingers smoothed across the ground and nails dug into the crevices like a blind man looking for stray change. He dropped to his knees and arched his back to look under stones and crevices, giving the Captain a delightful view of the curve of his bottom.

Malik rolled his eyes, typical gypsies. Probably looking for any spare change the nobles dropped during the festivities. What Marik wanted with him was beyond Malik, but he didn't care. A job was a job after all. Quickly he cut a piece of his cloak, and pulled a small bottle from the belt of his armor with a smirk. He uncorked the stopper and grimaced before holding his breath, only a whiff of the stuff was needed to knock him out. Quickly, he poured the noxious-smelling liquid into the cloth and crept deeper into the darkness.

Bakura could've screamed when night crept over the plaza leaving him to search alone in only torchlight. "Damn it to hell!" he cursed and continued his search. He dropped to his feet, ignored the horrible ache of the bones in his knees crushing against the stone and began searching with his hands. Blindly, feeling each stone and crevice and ceasing any foreign object he could find for examination and cursed loudly when it proved to be little more than trash.

"Damn it, where it!" he cursed over and over. "Where is it?" His heart sank at the thought that someone _had_ found it and taken it for themselves, but he quashed those thoughts beneath his head. Just the thought made him feel violated. That emerald symbolized his parents' dying devotion to one another, his mother's sacrifice to keep him alive the day of the massacre, her warm smiles and loving songs. Just the thought of those precious memories wrapped around some fat, meaty, noble woman's neck made him feel sick enough to vomit.

"It has to be here, please God, if Mama Silence was right and you can hear even our prayers, _please_, I beg you help me find my mother's emerald!" He pleaded but only half expected it to do anything. If he was lucky, morning would come and he'd be able to see the Plaza better during the day. With luck, it had slipped out of anyone's site and was still in that hidden resting place waiting for him to find it. With less luck it was in some noble home or had fallen down a gutter and was taken to sea, where it would no doubt sink to the bottom of the bay. Bakura shook his head and cursed his own imagination.

He _would _find it. He _had_ too.

A rip and shallow pop snapped in Bakura's hears and instinctually he shot up and whirled around. His hands reached for his knives, only to realize with horror that he'd left them behind. "Who's there?" Bakura demanded, letting his anger and rage bleed into his voice. The more dangerous he sounded the better. The shadows didn't answer. He hadn't expected them too. What concerned him was that he couldn't see anything. Even in the darkness thieves and gypsies were notorious for the sharp eyes: came with the territory, avoiding law officers was necessity above all else. But now he couldn't catch a single shadow flickering in the darkness, not a single flash betrayed a movement.

Something was wrong.

His ears had never failed him before. "I _know_ I heard something," he whispered to himself. "Where are you?" he demanded louder.

In answer, his assailant threw an arm around the boy's neck and another around his waist pinning his arms to his side, the hand around his beck pressing a soaked cloth to his nose and mouth. Too late Bakura realized his mistake, so focused on the sound _behind_ him that he'd failed to realize once he'd turned around he'd fallen into a trap. Realizing what the liquid was, Bakura struggled to hold his breath and thrashed his limbs. His strong arms flexed, he kicked one leg behind him bashing into his assailant's shin, but instead bit his lip to suppress a hiss when his heel his solid metal.

A guard, he concluded. Who, he didn't know, but it didn't matter. He knew full well what happened to the gypsies captured by guards and had no illusions of the fate awaiting him if he passed out now. He flexed his arms, slammed his elbows into the armored chest and stomach, and continued to kick, even lifting his leg to kick the back of his foot against the man's unarmored thigh. He thrashed will all his might hoping to at least turn around but none of his actions helped relive him of his predicament. The guard held strong, the arms tightened around his neck and waist, making it even harder to hold his breath. Armored feet kicked his unprotected legs and knees causing his bones to ache and his body to weaken. The tightening grip on his neck and the cloth pressing harder against his nose and mouth made it even worse.

He held his breath as long as he could, but between his thrashing limbs and the assailant's grip he could only last for so long. Finally, he could stand no more and against the will of his mind, his body rebelled and he took a breath of air, only to inhale the foul stench of the chemical. His nose and throat burned, his lungs felt like they were on fire and his mind suddenly became hazy. Still, he continued to thrash, even as he felt his arms and legs weaken and his body going numb from the infectious sting. He eyes watered, and he shut them tightly out of pride more than anything else. He felt his body going numb as if his limbs were freely floating in space, but it was an awful, helpless, infectious feeling. A sudden drowsiness washed over his mind. He fought it bitterly but secretly he knew he'd lost the battle and would soon lose the war as well.

"Well, well, isn't this a surprise…" The humor in the words was like a faint echo in his ears, even as his body fell limp at his sides and his weak legs buckled beneath him. He felt the guards grip loosened but it did nothing to aid him. His body collapsed into a mess of appendages.

"Looks like I get you all to myself." The last thing Bakura heard was the man's familiar but cruel and lecherous laugher following him into darkness.

Malik couldn't stop laughing. "Huh-ha! I can't believe my luck! Oh brother, if only you could see how mistaken you were!" He laughed like a child with a new toy. And, oh, what a delectable toy it was. Even unconscious and sprawled on the floor he looked provocative and desirable: his body limb and facing him, his cheek pressed against the ground, his arms sprawled at his sides and his legs parted slightly, his gorgeous hair fanning that chiseled face. Oh, if only those eyes were open. Those glorious green eyes who he wanted to see with desire, but for now he would take what he could get. He would not let this one escape his grasp. Not again.

That realization suddenly struck him. He promised to bring the beautiful gypsy to the Pailis de Justice, but he knew full well the tonic would not last long. It was meant to stun and knock out them long enough to detain them for travel. It would never last long enough for him to take the brat all the way there, let alone have his fun. Unless….

He turned around, his eyes following the cobblestones to side door he had used, and followed up the ancient stone of the church to the empty upper towers that housed only birds and bells. The caretakers had already gone to bed. No one would notice the Captain sneaking in with his latest catch and slinking up to the tower to have his fun. If the boy woke up, he could just drug him again and take him to the Pailis when he was finished. The boy would never know. His brother would never know, and by morning they'd all go on with their lives, none the wiser.

He grabbed the youth by the front of his shirt, slung him over his shoulder, and made his way back to the side entrance of Notre Dame.

"Oh blast it!" Ryou swore for the tenth time in the last hour and tossed the broken block of wood over his shoulder. It landed with a soft 'thunk' before rolling down the rest of the accumulating pile before finally rolling off into a corner. "Why can't I get this one right?"

"Because it is the middle of the night and, for some reason I cannot fathom, you refuse to go to bed." Atem answered stirring the wood paint with one hand and pouring water into the thick colors with the other.

"And being good guardians we've decided to stay up with you until you either collapse from exhaustion, or finish your current project and go to sleep on your own," Yami added painting the wood carving of a gypsy caravan with bold colors.

"He was being rhetorical you too," Yugi teased with a chuckle before gazing down at his own poor attempt to turn a block of wood into something elegant.

"Whatever, I can't sleep anyway, and I am not going to bed until I get this carving right!" Ryou said boldly, grabbing another block and attacked it with his blade. Normally, adding to his collection of wooden figures and working on his Paris model relaxed him, but this current project did nothing but frustrate him. For all his talents, this one simply refused to be carved. "Hopefully, I can get this one to look somewhat like Bakura."

"Speaking of which, have you decided what you're going to do about that emerald?" Atem asked.

Ryou paused, his blade cutting a rather deep nick in the coat of the figure. "Not a clue," Ryou signed, giving up and starting over with a new block of wood. "The Gypsies are already gone and I have no idea how to find Bakura. And unless I do, I can't return it to him." He paused. The image of the emerald resting peacefully under his pillow filled his mind with shame. Even more since the Bishop gave it to him as a gift. The man had earnestly believed it to be a sign from God? How could he keep it, let alone wear it, knowing who it belonged to and how much it meant to him.

"What about that pendant you said he gave you?" Yugi asked, sending his adopted son's distress.

"I have had no luck deciphering it," he said pulling on the cord and removing the pendant from the security of his shirt. It was clearly handmade from two woven bands tied at the top and end. A cross was its heart, surrounded by a blue line oval, and next to it was a white circle with a black x with a series of surrounding threads tied in crisscross lines and all had odd angles. Lovely, but he had no idea what it meant.

"I know Bakura said something about it but I'm not sure what it means." He pondered until a loud clang like wood and iron slamming against stone echoed through the top of the tower causing the four occupants to jump.

"What was that?" Yami demanded as Ryou shot up and leaned over the wood beams and gazed into the lower rafters. "I'm not sure. It sounds like it came from downstairs." Ryou said, climbing over the railing, and with a jump grabbed the rope and started climbing down, letting go only when he was low enough to land on the rafters without hurting his knees. Overhead, he heard the Grigori's wings. "Stay above, he told them "In case someone's here," he ordered racing across the open gallery with minimal effort and hid in the shadows of the corkscrew stairs. He could see his own room was intact and left alone, but the closer he got the more the louder he could hear the sounds of metallic metal and the soft thump of a body. Quickly, he climbed the rafters and into the high ceiling of the stone chamber.

His suspicions were confirmed. Someone was in the tower. Now the question was who?

Malik entered the high-ceilinged stone chamber and deposited his beautiful burden on the floor with little regard for its care. 367 stairs he'd climbed. In heavy armor, with a body nearly his own height and weight slouched over his shoulder. Already exhausted and furious, he growled and pulled off his gauntlets and dropped them to the floor with a loud metallic clang, then dropped his mantle and heaved off his chest plate and threw it in the corner. The loud clang of each garment was nearly enough to stir his captive but the tonic did its job well.

"367 steps, how the hell does Marik do this?" he asked no one in particular and continued to strip his heavy armor. A long, pleasant night awaited him and he'd be damned if he spent it heavy and tired and covered in chainmail. Once stripped to his clothes, he turned to his beautiful captive still on the floor and took long strides towards the body a devilish leer in his eyes.

He turned the boy's cheek to face him, wishing so much those precious emeralds would open if only to see their beautiful fire and resistance turn to pleasure and begging. He stroked that cheek, taking in every curve of his face, every crook of his neck and leaned forward to taste it. He felt the creature stir with a faint squirm under his touch. A stressful arch of his unconscious brow expressed resistance even in slumber, so Malik's touch. It made the Captain angry. How dare he resist. How dare he deny him what he wanted! Didn't the boy know how lucky he was that he, The Captain of the King's Guard, had taken an interest in him?

"Oh if only you were awake," the Captain moaned in wicked delight, maneuvering the boy's hands above his hand with a simple, flawless stroke of his bandaged wrist and gripped them tightly, a silent warning to the boy of who exactly was in charge. His free hand stroked the lean chest, taking in the curve of every muscled even through the thin contours of his raggedy shirt. He stroke up the chest with rough fingers then down his side to the curve of his hip. He pushed up the rough fabric licking his lips maliciously. The strong skin felt hot and strong beneath his fingers. He indulged in the firm muscles, firm and warm and begging for him to touch them.

His knees caged either side of the boy's hips, pressing his lower half against the boy's hips. Slowly, his hand wondered towards the hem of the boy's pants, teasingly, fingers brushing against things they shouldn't, all while the boy's stress marks grew worse and worse but all Malik could envision was the boy writhing under him.

So caught up in these lecherous thoughts was he, that he didn't hear anyone else enter, or notice the boy climbing through the rafters above. But Ryou swiftly pushed through the forest of wooden beams with the accuracy of a primate in a tree, weaving until he could see what was happening. His suspicions confirmed he was torn between seeing who it was and retreating back to the safety of the Upper North Tower, but his inner fears and caution compelled him to stay.

Something's not right. He told himself. No one comes up here unless it's to see me. Whoever it was that had entered hadn't left the stone room which was little more than an entrance, why? Silently, he weaved closer, and hoped for a better look. He soon made out two bodies in the darkness and moonlight pooling through the open windows. The position was a strange one for him, the way their bodies were positioned: one on top of the other, but one wasn't moving by the looks of it and that concerned him. Was the other one wounded? Had the second brought him here for treatment? It sounded too whimsical, even for him. Carefully, Ryou climbed deeper into the rafters until he was just above the bodies.

He watched as one leaned over and pressed his mouth to the other's neck. Realization hit Ryou with horror. Were they? No! They couldn't! Not here! In the house of Our Lady! Would anyone willing commit such a sin! He opened his mouth to scream until the upper body pulled away, moonlight suddenly illuminating the face of the, who Ryou now realized, unconscious boy. The familiar white hair, the gold skin, the arched cheeks: there was no mistaking it, and horror compelled Ryou to scream.

"BAKURA!"

"The hell?!" Malik spun around at the sound and looked around but Ryou had already fled into the shadow of the rafters. He stiffened when he felt the body beneath him stir but with more force.

"Owe, my head," Bakura stirred, his head pounded loudly in his ears, his throat was dry and raw, and his nose burned. He pulled on his hand to rub his head but found it trapped above him. His eyes suddenly flew open and he yanked on both his wrists but the slumber had weakened his limbs and the grip was like shackles of iron. Panic flooded through him when he felt an unusual weight on his middle and looked up and down. His worst fears confirmed.

"Get off!" Bakura screamed and thrashed in a vain attempt to get the body of his attacker off him. Damn, him if he let himself be raped by a guard.

"Shit!" Malik cursed and looked down, struggling to regain control of the flailing body under him. "Shut up!" he delivered a backhanded slap across Bakura's cheek with enough force that Bakura's cheek rolled and his head smacked against the stone, making him feel dizzy all over again. He tried to scream when he felt the man's hand on his chest, but his throat burned and no sound came out. The rip of cloth and panic fired his veins, his heart beat so fast it threatened to burst from his chest. Bakura half hoped it would. A quick death would be much better than this shame. He tried to scream again, but the guard beat him to it and covered his mouth with a rough, callous hand. "Oh no, you don't," he mocked. "I'll be damned if those nuns hear you and ruin my fun." Bakura shook his head ferociously and tried to bite but his attacker's was strong and even his assailant releasing his mouth did little to help Bakura find his voice. The air raw his throat and robbed him of his voice and words formed unreadable rasps. He tried to kick his legs, fail his arms but something in his body had weakened him to the point he could barely move them without feeling exhausted. He sealed his eyes shut when he felt that callous hand move towards his pants.

Ryou felt himself freeze for a moment, paralyzed when the rapist turned his attention towards him but the shadows hid him well. Fear and horror at what he was witnessing paralyzed him. No longer was he himself, but the fourteen-year-old child, powerless in the face of the ungodly men who attempted to use him in the sickest, vilest and most evil of the Devil's sins. Only now did he realize he was witnessing a rape, or an attempted one, and that terrified him more than anything in his entire life. Crippled by fear and memory, Ryou could do nothing but watch, even as his mind screamed at him to move his body betrayed him. His heart stopped all at once and froze his limbs in place. Tears pricked his eyes and once more he felt as though he were the child wishing he'd never left the church in the first place and begging for a miracle, for his master to save him.

Only Bakura's voice broke his terrified trance. The voice he recognized but no longer was it the cocky, cynical, baritone swank it was before. No, now it was high with terror and a weak, helpless squeak. Bakura scared: if Ryou's childhood memories scared him, _that_ realization terrified him.

With a shove that he didn't know if it was the wind, his own body rocking forward or the hand of God himself, but Ryou felt himself fall forward and he landed with a loud thump not three feet from the attack and with all the strength Ryou screamed "No!" and with closed eyes and shaking arms, shoved the stunned rapist from his only friend outside his family.

Malik was so stunned by the sudden attack he put up no resistance against it and sprawled against the floor. Paralyzed for only a moment, Bakura didn't move, until he felt someone grab his hand, kneel at his side and ask "Are you alright?"

Terror still fueling his veins and shock keeping him paralyzed, all Bakura could afford was a weak nod, until his mind cleared its haze. He pushed the stranger away and back peddled in to a corner, reaching for the knives he knew wasn't there.

Ryou didn't blame him for being scared but before he could say more a strong hand gripped his slender neck and lifted him off the ground with a swift pull. Ryou tried to scream but sound was literally chocked from him, rendering him silent. His hands clawed at the attacker's hands, and his slim legs kicked but they did nothing. He didn't dare open his eyes and face the demonic eyes he knew he'd see if he did.

"You'll pay for that." The threat was laced with venom and scared Ryou to his very core. His lungs ached for air and the crushing pressure against his neck was so painful he couldn't even scream.

Bakura reacted on instinct and lunged towards the one being attacked, but his sense were dulled and his reflexes were slow and the second he grabbed the man, he was struck with an elbow to the chest and spun to the ground.

"Ryou!" A cry echoed above, but none of them could see anything.

Overhead, Yugi screamed in horror at his son being strangled and tried to fly but his wings became caught in the rafters. Atem's eyes widened in horror before he leaped up and with a powerful flap, shot through the air like a rocket and when he was level with the first bell he could find, slammed his fist into the heavy brass with such force its bellow echoed with a fierce sound wave.

So loud and low was the ring that Malik thought his ears would explode. He screamed and dropped the interloper to cover his own ears. Bakura did the same, and curled into a ball to deafen the sharp sound. Ryou, on instinct grabbed his earplugs and stuffed his ears with cotton. Quickly, he ran to Bakura who reacted like a wound up spring and jumped until he saw it was not his attacker but his savior helping him.

"Come on!" He called but the words were deafened by the echo of the ring. The two tried to flee but their assailant lunched at his prey like a wild animal and grabbed Bakura's hair. He screamed as he was yanked back with enough force to drag Ryou with him. The assailant, grabbed the smaller boy and though him to the ground behind him. Thinking quickly, Ryou looked around for some sort of weapon and grabbed the first thing he could find, a metal breastplate on the floor and, with as much strength as he could muster, swung it over his shoulder and prayed to God for accuracy.

BANG!

A loud thump compelled Ryou to open his eyes, the breastplate still in his hands. He found Bakura sprawled on the floor, shaking and panting but alright. In front of him the body of his assailant laid unconscious on the ground. A tiny bead of blood stained pale hair where the breastplate had contacted with his skull.

The breastplate slipped from Ryou's horrified fingers. Trembling, the boy fell to his knees and made the sign of the cross touching his forehead, chest and shoulders with a little more force than necessary. "Good Lord, what have I done…" he crawled to the unconscious body and carefully rolled it over to check for a pulse.

He and Bakura both screamed when they saw his face. Lying there unconscious but alive was a face mirroring that of Ryou's Master and one Bakura recognized as the Guard who fancied him only hours before. The Captain of the Guard, the Bishop's younger twin brother: Malik Ishtar.

"Sweet Mary, mother of God," Ryou made the sign of the cross again, folded his hands and immediately started praying, too shocked and horrified to believe anyone kin to his beloved Master could commit or even _think_ of committing an act as foul and severe as rape. In the Church of Our Lady no less!

"No. No. No." Bakura chanted over and over, staring unblinking at the unconscious face. "No, no, it can't be him." Shame, anger, stupidity burned his pale cheeks red. Anger at himself for letting his guard down and thinking a guard could ever be a friend. Shame that he allowed himself to end up in this position and the sheer stupidity of his action crashed against him making his chest ache with things he hadn't felt in years.

"Bakura?" A soft voice broke Bakura out of his thoughts, followed by the gentle shaking of his shoulders. "It's alright, your safe now. It's me, Bakura." The other attempted to mollify, but Bakura could barely see through the darkness and his own hazy eyes.

Fear, terror, shock, horror, confusion and uncertainly all spiraling into one and his mind unable to process them all and his body still delirious and weak from the drug, Bakura collapsed in the man's arms, but somehow, this time he knew when he woke up again he'd be safe.

"What's happening, what's happening?" Ryou panicked, until he felt the soft air of wings flapping at his side. Yugi hugged Ryou tightly while Yami checked the unconscious Bakura's vitals.

"He's alright," the Grigori confirmed. "He's just passed out from shock."

"Can you blame him," Atem stormed over to the unconscious body of the Captain. "What should we do with him?" The eldest Grigori asked with a dark smirk, his mind spinning with fitting punishments.

"Leave him," Yami said. "He's not dead and if the noise didn't wake someone up, those bells you rang sure will. Someone will find him soon enough."

"So we just let him go!" Atem said furiously.

"His people will judge him, Atem, we're Angels. You know that isn't within out power." Yugi warned, but his eyes held a secret message reminding his eldest lover to focus on what was really important.

"He better," Atem scoffed but obeyed, purposely stepping on Malik's hand as he walked over.

"We can't stay here," Ryou said immediately, stroking a hair out of Bakura's face. "He can't stay here."

"What are we going to do?" Yami asked, rhetorically. "It's not like we can bring him home. We could search this entire city and never find the Gypsy Court of Miracles."

"City!" That word set off a bell in Ryou's head. He pulled out the pendant dangling from his neck and held it to the moonlight. "When you hold this woven band, you hold the city in your hand—it's the city!"

"What?" the Grigori all said at once.

"The pendant, it's a map!" Ryou said laying it in his palm. "Look, here's the church," he pointed to the cross, "and the river" he pointed to the blue oval encircling it. "And these are the roads, so this." He pointed to the white circle with an x that he now realized looked more like an arched cross. "Must be where the Court of Miracles is." He pronounced proudly.

"You're certain of this?" Atem asked raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Ryou spun to him with a glare in his eyes. "I've lived on top of this city for eighteen years, I think I know what it looks like from above, and if I'm right, these roads lead to Lorrette!"

"A cemetery?" Yami gasped, incredulously. "That's an odd place for something supposedly called the Court of Miracles?"

"Perhaps, but it's my best bet," Ryou said, carefully lying Bakura in Yugi's lap and running into his room to grab his cloak.

"What do you mean by that?" Atem asked, afraid he knew the answer already, but prayed he was wrong.

"Isn't it obvious?" Ryou said as though he were commenting the weather, tying the cord of his mantle shut and pulled the hood over his white locks. "I'm going to bring Bakura home to the Court of Miracles."

* * *

Well, if I didn't make you hate Malik before I hope I did no. I have to say that attempted rape scene was super hard to write snd it wasn't even that graphic, still anyone who knows me knows those are the one thing i REFUSE to write so i was pretty proud that I not only managed to get past it but with how well that scene came out, specifically with Ryou's bout of heroism to save his friend despite the resurfacing Tramua of his own past.

Also what happened here WILL come up next chapter: you guys know i NEVER use things like this for plot device (i honestly did it cause given Malik's character this was the most realistic scenario even though it's better for his ego for him to seduce his captives rather than rape them, he decided not to take any chances with Bakura.

I was also super nervous about Bakura this chapter since he's in a lot of "helpless" situations and we all know he is anything butt, but with a drug pumping through this veins someong his own height and weight on top of him and the shock of it all, I think i got it pretty well, also why did he faint? like i said the drug's still in him and I think the shock of the whole situation and figuring how who it WAS that tried to attack him would be enough stress to knock anyone out.

So as always read, review critique and commnet and this TIME I WILL UPDATE FASTER! I have finals right now and am trying to finish FK before Summer, so I can't make any promised but I WILL update this story within the month and following that I want to update every other week if I can! so THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE! Fans of this story if you're still reading it: God Bless you (and if you don't beleive in God) THANK YOU ALL FORM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART!


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